


The Dragonborn Elf

by phoenixquest



Series: Ryndoril and Ondolemar [18]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Adventure, M/M, Original Character(s), Sexual Content, Thalmor, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-07 14:05:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 59,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3175594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixquest/pseuds/phoenixquest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryndoril learns he's the Dragonborn, but what does it all mean? This is his journey to find out what he needs to do, and just how he's supposed to do it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you are easily upset by scenes of prisoners being whipped/tortured, you should probably skip this. It's not very graphic at all, but I wanted to put the warning there anyway.

Ryndoril limped through the gates of Markarth, exhausted and in pain. He’d just been through one of the most difficult fights of his life, and he was thoroughly lucky to have even walked away.

Right now, though, he was on a mission; he was determined to make it to Understone Keep. He had a Thalmor Commander to speak with.

Gritting his teeth against the pain in his thigh as he climbed the million steps of Markarth, the injured Bosmer finally made it into the Keep, going up yet more stairs.

“Ryndoril,” Ondolemar said in surprise, seeing the wood elf hobbling toward him with a grim expression. “What – are you all right?”

“Well enough,” Ryndoril said shortly. He handed a crumpled, bloodied piece of paper to the Thalmor. Curious, Ondolemar opened it up…and the blood drained from his face as he scanned the words.

_Justiciar Execution Order_

_Be on the lookout for a Bosmer called Ryndoril. He is an enemy to the Thalmor and is to be taken by force for questioning. Be advised, he is extremely dangerous, and quite able to defend himself. It is preferable he be questioned before being killed if at all possible, but if extreme measures must be taken, you may destroy him._

_If caught by local authorities, we are unable to offer you any assistance._

_For the glory of the Aldmeri Dominion!_

“This…this was…you were attacked?” Ondolemar said hoarsely, staring at the paper in shock.

“Yes,” Ryndoril said, still eyeing the Altmer suspiciously.

“Cyndil, Rolain, leave us,” Ondolemar said at once, his guards hurrying off at his commanding tone. He reached for the Bosmer, but Ryndoril flinched away from him. “Come with me, Ryndoril,” Ondolemar urged gently. Ryndoril knew the mer wouldn’t hurt him, whatever he might fear about that note, so he followed the Commander to his rooms where Ondolemar shut the door behind them. 

The very first thing the Thalmor Commander did was pull Ryndoril into his arms, holding him tightly.

“I’m so sorry,” Ondolemar murmured against the Bosmer’s ear. Ryndoril swallowed; despite what was going on, he felt a comfort in Ondolemar’s arms that he had never found anywhere else in his life. “You must believe me when I say I had no idea.”

“I want to,” Ryndoril said, his unusually solemn attitude making Ondolemar feel guilt burning hot inside him. The Bosmer was usually such a cheerful elf, making light of everything and smiling all the time; to see him like this made Ondolemar’s heart ache.

“Sit down,” Ondolemar commanded, pulling away and guiding Ryndoril over to the bed. Ryndoril hissed in pain his injured leg moved when he tried to sit. “Tell me where you’re hurt.”

“My leg,” Ryndoril said, pointing at the wound through his thigh; a sword swipe had come in when he wasn’t expecting it. “I had an arrow in my shoulder, but I got it out. I think it was poisoned, but the antidote I had with me fixed that.” Ondolemar nodded in acknowledgement, quickly pressing his fingers to Ryndoril’s wounded thigh and letting his magic flow through the wood elf to heal the wound. Ryndoril let out a relieved breath, and Ondolemar immediately moved on to the shoulder Ryndoril had indicated.

“How many?” Ondolemar asked as he healed the Bosmer.

“Four,” Ryndoril said darkly.

“Four?” Ondolemar asked, eyes wide. Ryndoril nodded. “You killed them all, I presume?”

“Yes,” Ryndoril said, his voice harsh as his dark eyes looked back at Ondolemar. “I did. They were going to kill me – you expect me not to – “

“No, no,” Ondolemar said hurriedly, squeezing the Bosmer’s uninjured shoulder. “I was simply…surprised. Were you alone?” Another nod. “You on your own against four trained Thalmor Justiciars, and you still made it out alive,” Ondolemar said in disbelief. “That is…amazing.” He had the sense that he ought to be upset about the loss of four of his soldiers, but when it was their lives or Ryndoril’s…

“What’s amazing is that I had Justiciars trying to kill me,” Ryndoril said. “Considering who the _Commander_ of the Justiciars is.”

“I swear to you, I knew nothing of it,” Ondolemar murmured, his eyes begging Ryndoril to believe him. “You know I wouldn’t…Divines, Ryn. I could _never_ do that to you.”

“Then why were they after me?” Ryndoril asked, a desperate tone to his voice. “What have I done?”

“I don’t have any idea,” Ondolemar frowned. “Nor do I know who would’ve ordered such an attack. I…I’m sorry.” Ryndoril let out a weary sigh.

“All right,” he murmured, and he leaned forward to rest his head on Ondolemar’s shoulder. Ondolemar’s hand came up to stroke the Bosmer’s red hair.

“What can I do, Ryn?” Ondolemar asked softly. “Tell me what you need.”

“Sleep,” Ryndoril mumbled against Ondolemar’s shoulder. “And food.”

“Then you shall rest,” Ondolemar said at once, squeezing the Bosmer’s head to him gently for a moment before standing up. 

“Ondolemar?” Ryndoril asked quietly, his eyes following the Altmer’s face.

“Yes?” Ondolemar asked anxiously, his gloved hand cupping Ryndoril’s cheek.

“Am I…am I safe?” Ryndoril asked, his eyes worried. “Here in the city?”

“Absolutely,” Ondolemar said immediately. “You are absolutely safe here, Ryn. You have my word.” Whatever was going on, he would _not_ let anything happen to the Bosmer there, where he had control over it.

“Right,” Ryndoril sighed. “Then I’ll be getting back to the house.”

“Nonsense,” Ondolemar said, shaking his head and pushing Ryndoril’s shoulder back down as the mer tried to get up. “You will rest here.” Ryndoril finally smiled.

“You sure?” Ryndoril asked.

“Very sure,” Ondolemar nodded. He couldn’t care less what his guards would think of it at the moment – all that mattered was making sure Ryndoril was all right. He helped the Bosmer undress down to his underthings, making sure he was comfortable on the bed before ordering his guards to bring him venison – he knew it was one of Ryndoril’s favorite foods.

“Thank you, love,” Ryndoril murmured as Ondolemar sat on the edge of the bed next to him.

“Of course,” Ondolemar said, giving him a small smile.

Ondolemar had to admit he was shaken. He had no idea who would’ve gone over his head and ordered such a thing, nor why he wouldn’t have even _known_ about it. The idea that someone out there – someone he worked with, possibly even worked _for_ – was trying to kill his lover…it made him furious.

He was, at least, glad that Ryndoril had believed him. He would never have ordered such a thing, and had he known, would have done everything in his power to warn the Bosmer and keep him safe.

It made little sense, he felt, that anyone would be after Ryndoril. The mer was a wood elf, an unspoken but obvious ally of the Dominion; and as far as Ondolemar knew, hadn’t ever acted against the Thalmor.

“Don’t worry, Ryn,” Ondolemar said softly as he stroked the Bosmer’s hair later, the elf laying down to sleep after a quick meal. “I’ll get to the bottom of this. I promise.” Ryndoril gave him a small smile.

“I know you will, love,” Ryndoril murmured. He was asleep not long after. Ondolemar vowed that whatever it took, he was going to find out what was going on – even if it meant he had to go see Elenwen.


	2. Chapter 2

“You’re the legendary Dragonborn.”

Ondolemar had just walked into Vlindrel Hall a week after the incident with the Justiciars. He breezed past Ryndoril’s Nord housecarl, ignoring the man and walking straight over to Ryndoril. The wood elf had stayed in the city while Ondolemar went to figure things out; he didn’t want to risk being attacked again. The Bosmer got to his feet from the comfortable chair near the fire, setting down the book he’d been reading.

“Supposedly,” Ryndoril nodded, looking at Ondolemar warily. How did the elf know this all of a sudden, and why was he so damn serious?

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Ondolemar demanded. Ryndoril shifted uncomfortably.

“It slipped my mind after nearly being murdered by a bunch of Thalmor,” he said dryly. “My apologies.” Ondolemar huffed out an angry breath.

“Do you realize what this means, Ryndoril?” Ondolemar said stiffly. “Do you have any idea what this has done?”

“No, actually, I don’t,” Ryndoril said coolly. It had been a time of some turmoil for him, finding out he was some supposed hero for the Nords; Ondolemar snapping at him like this was only serving to make him lose his patience. “I don’t understand it at all. Care to enlighten me?”

“The Ambassador wants you,” Ondolemar said bluntly. “She wants to imprison you and interrogate you for any and all information you have about the dragon menace. Or, as you saw, to have you killed.”

“But I don’t know _anything_ about the damned dragons!” Ryndoril said angrily. “All I know is that I was ordered to help kill one a couple weeks ago by the Jarl of Whiterun, and when I did – something…something happened. They all called me Dragonborn, and I have no _idea_ what it meant!” Ondolemar’s shoulders sagged at his lover’s tone, closing his eyes briefly and taking a deep breath.

“Argis, leave us,” Ondolemar ordered the housecarl, looking back up at Ryndoril.

“My Thane?” Argis asked, clearly unsettled. Ondolemar snarled in his direction.

“Go on, Argis,” Ryndoril said, more kindly than the Altmer had done. “We need to talk.” Casting the Thalmor a dirty look, Argis walked out of the house, shutting the door behind him. Ryndoril rounded on Ondolemar. “How do you even know this? I didn’t tell you. Spying on me?”

“Of course I’m not spying on you!” Ondolemar burst out, his eyes tortured. “I went to the Ambassador to try and figure this mess out, find out why you were attacked – and _she_ told me!”

“How does _she_ know?” Ryndoril yelped. “What the hell? Am I just being constantly watched by the Thalmor?”

“I don’t _know_!” Ondolemar said, frustration mixing with a hint of fear in his voice. “I don’t know, Ryn,” he said, more calmly. “I don’t…all I know is that the Thalmor believe you to be this Dragonborn, and they are after you.”

“They?” Ryndoril asked pointedly. “You’re one of them, Ondolemar. Are you here to arrest me? Is that it?”

“Of course I’m not,” Ondolemar said, shaking his head, angry and hurt at the accusation. “You know I’m not…you know I couldn’t do that.” He sighed. “Ryn…I need you to tell me what happened. Please,” he added at the other elf’s stubborn face.

“Are they coming for me?” Ryndoril asked desperately. “Do they know I’m here? Do they know I know you?”

“I informed the Ambassador that I found the note on the ground, and I hadn’t seen who had dropped it,” Ondolemar explained. “As far as she knows, I’ve never met you, and if they haven’t found you here in the city yet, I’ve no reason to believe they would now.”

“And you’re sure of this?” Ryndoril asked. Ondolemar finally heard the slight tremble to his voice, and then, his annoyance fading, noticed the light sheen of tears in the Bosmer’s eyes. “You’re sure that I’m not going to be attacked as I sit here? For something I _know nothing about_?” The last words were bit out angrily, and Ondolemar saw a tear spill from the mer’s eye.

In two strides, Ondolemar had crossed the room to his lover, pulling him into his arms. He’d never seen the elf cry before, and that startled him more than anything else had.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Ryndoril murmured thickly, snuggling into Ondolemar’s embrace. “Everything’s been so ridiculous. I was…I was on my way to tell you. I _had_ to tell you. I had to…ugh,” he sniffled, wrapping his arms around Ondolemar and squeezing him tight. Ondolemar continued to hold him, stroking his hair soothingly. “I feel like I don’t understand anything anymore,” Ryndoril confessed into his lover’s shoulder. “I feel like the world’s gone mad.”

“It’s all right,” Ondolemar said softly in the Bosmer’s ear. “I’ll help you figure it out.” He didn’t know how – he had no idea how this could ever work out without Ryndoril dead at the hands of his superiors – but damn if he wasn’t going to try. “Just…talk to me.” Ryndoril sniffled again, then pulled away from Ondolemar, grabbing his hand and leading him into the bedroom. The two sat on the bed, Ryndoril leaning on Ondolemar, the Altmer’s arm around the smaller elf.

“I went to Whiterun,” Ryndoril said, his voice still shaky and thick though he tried to control it. He hated that he’d gotten so upset over this, but it was all so overwhelming. “I’d just come back from an errand for the Jarl, and as soon as I got back, a dragon was attacking. The Jarl sent me with his housecarl to go out and learn about the situation, because of Helgen.

“When we got there, I helped his men take down the dragon,” Ryndoril continued. “As soon as it was dead…there was this…ugh, I can’t even explain,” he said in annoyance, shaking his head. “The men said I absorbed the dragon’s soul, and then told me to Shout – like a dragon can. And then…I did.” He breathed out. “I Shouted like they said, somehow, and knocked a guard down. They all started yelling about me being Dragonborn. I ran up to the Keep to tell the Jarl what had happened, and then I took off.”

“Is that everything?” Ondolemar asked gently, his hand running soothingly over Ryndoril’s shoulder.

“Pretty much,” Ryndoril said, his voice still a little rough. “There was a noise…a rumble, kind of…as I ran back to Whiterun. The Jarl told me it was the Greybeards summoning me to High Hrothgar. He told me I should get there right away, but…” 

“But you came here instead,” Ondolemar murmured. “To tell me.”

“Of course I did,” Ryndoril said, turning his head to rub his cheek against the rough leather of Ondolemar’s uniform. “I…I don’t know what to do with this. I feel – I feel…” he trailed off for a moment. “Ondolemar…I’m scared.” The confession was little more than a whisper, and if Ondolemar hadn’t been sitting so close, he may not have heard it.

Ondolemar didn’t know what to say to that. He supposed it made sense; being the Dragonborn was supposed to be quite a legendary thing, and having to live up to that would tend to put one under a lot of pressure. With a power inside him he didn’t seem to understand and the Thalmor already trying to kill him…well, he had to admit he’d be a little bit frightened, too.

“It’s all right,” Ondolemar eventually said, squeezing Ryndoril to him and resting his chin on the Bosmer’s head. “I understand you’re frightened.”

“Do you know anything about the Dragonborn?” Ryndoril asked. “Anything about the legends?”

“I know that all the emperors of Tamriel used to be Dragonborn,” Ondolemar said. “And they were certainly no allies to us.”

“So that would be why the Thalmor want me dead, or at least questioned,” Ryndoril said. “I just…I don’t understand. There hasn’t been a Dragonborn for an age…why now? Why me?”

“I don’t know,” Ondolemar said softly. He wished he had answers for the distraught Bosmer. “Did they tell you anything else? Do you have any other information at all?”

“Nothing besides directions to High Hrothgar,” Ryndoril sighed. “And the reverence of every guard in Whiterun.” He was quiet for a moment. “Ondolemar…I don’t want the Thalmor after me.”

“I know, Ryn,” Ondolemar said softly. “Try not to worry. We’ll figure this out.” Ryndoril smiled, pulling away just far enough to look up at his lover.

“You’re pretty good at this, you know,” he said softly. Ondolemar gave the Bosmer a small smile in return; it wasn’t often he was the one to console Ryndoril. 

“Good,” Ondolemar said. “Because I feel quite helpless.” Ryndoril leaned in and kissed him. Somehow, just discussing it – telling his closest companion about it – had helped. It made it all feel a little more bearable.

“I need to go to High Hrothgar,” Ryndoril said, sinking back into Ondolemar’s arms. The Altmer gladly embraced him again. “But I can’t go traveling around Skyrim with Justiciars after my head.”

“Well, you handled yourself adeptly before,” Ondolemar pointed out.

“Barely,” Ryndoril said. “And in any case, I don’t want to go around killing your friends.” Ondolemar smiled; it was a kind thought, though he admittedly had few he’d call _friends_ currently serving in the Dominion.

“I suppose you have a point,” he said. “Hmm. Let me think about it. I am sure we can come up with a solution.”

“You tell the Ambassador to lay off?” Ryndoril asked hopefully. Really, Ondolemar’s support meant more to him than whatever solution he came up with. Ondolemar chuckled.

“I wish it were so simple,” he replied. “That would end up with you just as hunted as you are now, and me…well, nothing good would come of it, let’s put it that way.”

“True,” Ryndoril sighed. “Love?”

“Yes, Ryn?” Ondolemar murmured against the elf’s ear.

“Thank you,” Rydoril replied. “Thanks for being…here for me.”

“I’ll _always_ be here for you,” Ondolemar said softly. He never thought he’d say such a sentence to anyone in his life, let alone mean it…but he had never been more serious about anything. He meant every word.

*****

“Madame Ambassador, I have news you will want to hear about the Dragonborn,” Ondolemar said as he walked into Elenwen’s office. After a long discussion with Ryndoril, they had decided this would be the best way to go for now, and though neither much liked it, Ondolemar was going to do his best to make sure everything went well.

“Do you?” Elenwen asked, her voice bored. “Is he dead? Or have you brought him for questioning?”

“Neither, my lady,” Ondolemar said politely. “In fact, I learned that the one named Ryndoril is the same one who has assisted me on several occasions, regarding a matter of Talos worship, and also the Forsworn incident. He has been quite useful.” Elenwen frowned up at the Justiciar Commander from her seat behind her desk.

“Do you not have trained Justiciars to be ‘useful’ to you, Commander?” she asked, quiet fury in her tone.

“Of course,” Ondolemar nodded, trying not to grit his teeth. He had known this would not go well, and the Ambassador was behaving strangely; she was far angrier than she should be at the situation. “I meant the anecdote as merely a sign that the wood elf appears to trust me. Upon confrontation, he informed me that he doesn’t know anything about the dragons – “

“Upon confrontation?” Elenwen spat, getting to her feet, narrowing her eyes, and coming over to Ondolemar. “Ondolemar, need I remind you who is in charge here? I have issued an order that he is to be brought straight to _me_ for interrogation!”

“I understand, Madame,” Ondolemar said smoothly. He was starting to feel nervous with her so close to him; surely she could not somehow sense they had been lovers for months, could she? She _couldn’t_ know how they felt about one another, or how close they were... “However, I must advise caution; if this mer is truly the Dragonborn, the rumors say he is the only one who could do anything about the dragons. Killing him would leave us at the mercy of these beasts, and imprisoning him would be sure to turn him against us. It would be unwise to send such a powerful weapon into the welcoming arms of our enemies, and if we could have him as an ally ourselves – imagine the potential, Ambassador.” He didn’t really like discussing the Bosmer as a ‘weapon’ to be used, but he knew how to appeal to the Ambassador.

Elenwen regarded him for a moment, clearly thinking over his argument.

“All right,” she finally said, nodding sharply. “If you think you have all the answers, what do you suggest we do?” Ondolemar gulped; despite her words, her tone clearly indicated that she was furious with him. He chose his words carefully.

“If I may, Madame,” Ondolemar said, keeping his voice steady, “I believe the best course of action at the moment would be to allow the Dragonborn to learn what he can. He didn’t have any information about the situation yet, from what I understood. If we allow him to get his answers and learn about defeating the dragons, we’ll all be safer for it…and if we have the opportunity to actually aid him, we’re likely to end up with a powerful ally.” Elenwen once again paused to consider his words. He hoped he wasn’t coming on too strongly; he _hoped_ the Ambassador couldn’t sense his feelings. If she did… he didn’t really want to think about the consequences for either Ryndoril or himself.

“Indeed,” she finally said, her eyes unreadable and her voice as cold as ever. “We’ll do it your way. For now. If the wretch defies us, however…he will be dealt with. _My_ way.”

“Yes, my lady,” Ondolemar said, nodding to her before heading out.

Elenwen watched the Commander walk out of her office, his head held high though it was very obvious how anxious he was. She would be watching him closely in the days to come, that much was certain. She had already become obsessed with the idea of having the Dragonborn for her own, to use him, to break him; she didn’t know why the Commander wanted so much to keep her from getting her wish, but she wasn’t going to let it last very long.

*****

“She knew something,” Ondolemar said, curled up in bed with Ryndoril the next night, having returned from the Embassy to tell Ryndoril what had happened. “She knew something was going on.”

“Does it matter?” Ryndoril shrugged, laying on Ondolemar’s bare chest, his fingers brushing lightly over his torso. “She agreed to not have me killed or imprisoned – for now that’s good enough for me to do what I need to do. The rest…we can figure out after.” Ondolemar sighed; he knew it wasn’t quite as simple as the Bosmer seemed to think, but he couldn’t bring himself to add to his worries.

“Just be careful, Ryn,” Ondolemar finally settled on saying, squeezing the elf. 

“I will be,” Ryndoril smiled, pressing a kiss to Ondolemar’s chest. “Don’t worry about me.”

Ryndoril felt a good bit better knowing his lover was looking out for him; it was a lot easier to feel like his cheerful self with Ondolemar’s support. Somehow, he knew, as long as he had the other elf, everything would turn out all right.


	3. Chapter 3

“So, let me get this straight,” Ryndoril said, almost laughing for the absurdity of the situation. “You went through an old Nord crypt to steal a relic and plant a message for the Dragonborn, and now that I’ve come, you’re not even going to believe me?”

With the Justiciars no longer after his head, Ryndoril had gone up to High Hrothgar as the Jarl of Whiterun had suggested. He learned that indeed he _was_ the Dragonborn, and the Greybeards had even taught him more Shouts. As a final test for him, they had sent him after an artifact that had once belonged to their founder, Jurgen Windcaller; an old horn that was buried with him in his crypt. Ryndoril had genially agreed; he enjoyed trawling through old ruins anyway, so retrieving something for them wasn’t exactly a hardship.

When he’d gotten to the end of the crypt, however, there was no horn to be found; just a note placed upon Jurgen’s tomb, addressed to the Dragonborn and asking him to meet someone in Riverwood. Feeling a little frustrated that the trek had been for naught, Ryndoril had headed to Riverwood at once, where he found the woman who had written the note – the innkeeper of the Sleeping Giant Inn.

And now, despite all her efforts to get him to come to her, she was staunchly refusing to believe he was, in fact, the Dragonborn – at least, she informed him, until he proved himself to her.

“No, I’m not,” the woman, named Delphine, said bluntly. “For all I know, this could still be a Thalmor trap, and until I’ve seen you kill a dragon with my own eyes, I’m not going to believe it.”

“You keep bringing up the Thalmor,” Ryndoril pointed out. He was most intrigued by this; he wondered what Ondolemar would think of it. Thinking of his lover caused him a pang; it had been three weeks since he’d last seen the Altmer, and he missed him terribly. “Why are you so worried about them?”

“You should be, too,” Delphine said at once. “I’m sure they’d give anything to get their hands on the powerful Dragonborn. If you really are, that is.”

“You’re not Dragonborn,” Ryndoril pointed out. “So why would they care about you?”

“Let’s just say we’re old enemies,” Delphine said darkly. “Right now, that’s all you need to know.” Ryndoril shrugged. He almost wanted to mention he had connections with the Thalmor, just to watch her panic, but as paranoid as she seemed to be he thought it was more likely to end in a fight than anything terribly amusing.

“All right, fine,” Ryndoril sighed. “Well, what would you like me to do? I could Shout at you, if you want,” he suggested cheekily.

“I don’t think so,” Delphine said, unamused. “Besides, anyone can learn to Shout if they spend enough time with the Greybeards. No, you’re going to come with me, and we’re going to kill a dragon. I think I’ve found where the next one will come to life.”

“Really?” Ryndoril asked, genuinely interested now. “How do you know?”

Delphine explained to him about the pattern she’d noticed, showing him on her map and pointing out the place she’d pinned down for the next appearance.

“So we’ll head to Kynesgrove,” Delphine said, “and wait for the dragon to come to life. You’ll kill it, and we’ll see what we can learn about what’s causing it.”

“Excellent,” Ryndoril said cheerfully. “And when is this going to happen?”

“The sooner, the better,” Delphine said. “I can’t predict exactly when the dragon will come to life, I just know it will be soon. If we can get up there now, we might just be in time.”

“Then let’s go kill a dragon,” Ryndoril grinned. He was trying to sound a bit more confident than he really felt; it would only be the second one of the beasts he’d killed, and the memory of the first one was still rather fresh. However, he knew that the sooner he got this over with, the sooner he could go home to Markarth and finally see Ondolemar again.

That in mind, he followed Delphine to Kynesgrove, his spirits high.

*****

“So it’s true,” Delphine breathed, staring in awe at Ryndoril after the dragon soul entered him. “You really are…Dragonborn.”

“Yeah,” Ryndoril said, slightly annoyed. The woman had barely been of help at all against the beast, leaving him to do most of the work of taking it down. His archery skills and a lucky dagger hit had solved the problem, though, so he felt quite proud of himself.

“Well, I guess I owe you some answers, then,” Delphine admitted. “Go on. Ask away – anything you want to know. Nothing held back.”

“Uh, don’t you think we could go back to the inn or something first?” Ryndoril asked skeptically. It seemed a little strange to stand around chatting right next to the dragon’s skeleton, and he was pretty tired.

“I think everyone in town will have fled,” Delphine said, shaking her head. “We could head back toward Windhelm.”

“Works for me,” Ryndoril agreed. Before they left, he scouted around the dragon, finding a few oddly heavy scales that hadn’t been burnt up when the dragon died, and yanking a few bones as well.

“Are you finished?” Delphine finally snapped. Ryndoril chuckled to himself.

“Nothing wrong with a bit of a souvenir,” Ryndoril said. He wished he hadn’t been too in shock to do the same thing at Whiterun’s western watchtower, and couldn’t help but grin at the thought of showing these to Ondolemar. He was sure the Altmer would be fascinated.

Delphine and Ryndoril talked all the way back to Windhelm, the woman explaining everything Ryndoril wanted to know. She told him she was a member of a group called the Blades, and the purpose of said group was to protect the Dragonborn, even though there hadn’t been a Dragonborn for two hundred years. They used to be dragon slayers, but there hadn’t been dragons in a very long time.

Ryndoril privately thought that the woman wasn’t going to be much use as a dragon slayer if she was going to just stand by idly and watch while he did all the work.

She told him her theory that the Thalmor were behind the dragon attacks; Ryndoril continued to keep his mouth shut about his connection with the elves, not knowing what he should say. He knew now if he told the woman of his involvement with the Thalmor, he was going to have a fight on his hands, but more than that he didn’t want to say anything that might cause the Ambassador to be angry with him. He knew she wasn’t happy about Ondolemar’s agreement with her, and he wasn’t willing to jeopardize it.

By the time they reached Windhelm, Delphine had summed up that they had to try and get information from the Thalmor somehow; Ryndoril simply nodded his agreement, though he already knew full well the Thalmor didn’t have any idea about the dragons themselves. She said she had a few ideas, which made him a little nervous, but he didn’t think she was likely to act on the Thalmor by herself. He promised to get in touch with her in a couple of weeks, and she headed back toward Riverwood.

Ryndoril took a room at the inn there in Windhelm, tired and anxious to get back to Ondolemar. He felt like he’d learned an overwhelming amount of information, and he was dying to know what the other elf was going to say about it.

*****

Ondolemar was worried. He hadn’t seen Ryndoril in three weeks, and there was no guarantee the Ambassador hadn’t simply decided to ignore his words – she had seemed quite insistent on getting ‘the Dragonborn’ for herself. What if his lover was injured? What if he’d been attacked, or worse, captured? He couldn’t let himself think of Ryndoril in a Thalmor dungeon; it was occasionally a necessity for lesser beings, of course, but not for his dear wood elf. 

His feelings for the Bosmer were becoming stronger, and though he’d never admit it to anyone else – except perhaps Ryndoril himself, one day – he wondered if he might even be falling in love with him. His thoughts had never been so tender toward another person before.

“Master Ondolemar,” Cyndil said, coming up to him. He turned to face his guard, a sneer already forming on his lips; the long absence of Ryndoril had made him more easily annoyed than usual. 

“What?” Ondolemar snapped.

“The Jarl has requested you,” Cyndil said crisply. Ondolemar let out a long-suffering sigh. That blasted Jarl always needed something, and it always had to be when he was in the middle of something important. Paperwork, as usual.

“I’ll be there in a moment,” Ondolemar replied, setting down his quill. To be fair, he hadn’t really been getting much accomplished anyway…but to be interrupted for the idiotic Jarl, yet again!

Ondolemar took his time heading out to the Jarl’s throne room, not much caring about punctuality when it came to the infernal Nord man. His guards trailed behind him, just as they always did.

Sometimes, Ondolemar hated his job. Prestige and power were all well and good, but it was so unendingly _dull_ …

“Finally,” Jarl Igmund sneered as Ondolemar walked up to him. Ondolemar glared at him.

“I would remind you, Jarl Igmund, that speaking rudely to a high-ranking member of the Thalmor is not in your best interest,” Ondolemar said with narrowed eyes.

“Yes, fine, whatever,” Jarl Igmund rolled his eyes. “My guards have informed me that there have been more Justiciar patrols as of late in the Reach. I was not told this would happen, and I want to know why.”

Ondolemar wanted to throttle the man for calling him out here for something so stupid.

“The Justiciars have the authority to go wherever we deem necessary, and for whatever reason we deem prudent. You know this.” He was having a hard time keeping his temper in check. He hadn’t known of an increase in patrols himself, but he was certainly not going to let the Jarl know that.

“And yet there has not been, to my knowledge, any reason for the patrols to have increased,” Jarl Igmund said indignantly. “You are to tell me when the plans of your patrols have changed, Commander.”

“I am required to tell you nothing,” Ondolemar snapped. “You answer to _me_ , Nord, not the other way around. Now if you are quite finished, I have other matters to attend to.”

“I damn well am not finished!” Jarl Igmund cried. “I want answers, elf, and I will have them!”

“The only thing you need know is that my patrols have seen fit to more thoroughly cover the Reach,” Ondolemar said icily. “You and your men have not been affected, so I do not see the problem. If anything you should be grateful,” he added. “It means more eyes on those blasted Forsworn.”

“There are no Forsworn in the city,” Jarl Igmund huffed.

“I was speaking of your entire hold,” Ondolemar said disdainfully. Even after Ryndoril’s troubles with the Forsworn and the Silver-Bloods, the Jarl chose to be dense as ever about the situation. But he had no desire to discuss it with the ignorant fool. “Regardless, you know all you need to know, and I’m leaving.” Jarl Igmund simply glared at him as he stalked away.

What a ridiculous waste of time, Ondolemar thought angrily. He loathed the times when the Jarl would interrupt him just for something so stupid. The man knew he wasn’t going to get any more answers, even if Ondolemar had them to give.

For that matter, though, _he_ wanted to know why the patrols had increased. It was something that should never have occurred without his knowledge, and it bothered him greatly that it had. He couldn’t help wondering if it had to do with Ryndoril.

“Cyndil, Rolain, what do you know of this increase in patrol?” Ondolemar asked his guards once they had approached his rooms again.

“I haven’t heard anything, my lord,” Cyndil replied.

“Nor I,” Rolain agreed. “Were you not told?”

“It is none of your business what I was told or what I do!” Ondolemar growled. His head was beginning to ache. “Go patrol the city. I am not to be bothered the rest of the afternoon, am I understood?”

“Yes, my lord,” Cyndil and Rolain said in unison. They walked off and Ondolemar turned into his room, shutting the door and closing his eyes, his fingers coming up to rub his temples. 

“By Auri-El, I swear, one of these days I’m going to murder the entire city,” Ondolemar muttered to himself.

“Now, love, don’t be so dramatic,” a voice said, startling Ondolemar into opening his eyes. He nearly collapsed with relief when he saw Ryndoril standing by his bed.

“Stop sneaking up on me like that,” Ondolemar scolded, though he immediately crossed the room to pull Ryndoril to him in a tight hug. Ryndoril chuckled, embracing the Altmer in return.

“Sorry,” Ryndoril replied. “Thought I’d surprise you.”

“When did you get back?” Ondolemar asked, pulling back to look over Ryndoril. It had become a habit of his, checking for new injuries on the Bosmer after a long trip.

“About ten minutes ago,” Ryndoril said, and Ondolemar realized he sounded tired, even as his persistent grin graced his lips. “Stopped in Vlindrel Hall to clean up a little, then came right up to the Keep. Saw you arguing with the Jarl, so I thought I’d come in and say hello when you were done.”

“Good,” Ondolemar sighed, pulling Ryndoril back to him and resting his head against the Bosmer’s. “I’m glad to see you, Ryn.”

“Glad to see you, too, love,” Ryndoril grinned, pressing a kiss to Ondolemar’s cheek.

“Why were you gone so long? What kept you? What happened?” Ondolemar asked, his hands rubbing Ryndoril’s back gently. He found he didn’t really want to let him go. “I was worried.”

“Ah, I’m just fine,” Ryndoril laughed. “Just out going through ruins, climbing mountains, slaying dragons…you know, the usual.” Ondolemar snorted.

“The usual,” he repeated sarcastically. “What have you found out? Did you learn anything?”

“I have loads to discuss with you,” Ryndoril admitted, squeezing Ondolemar’s middle. “But right now, I’ve been without you for three weeks, and I’d really like to fix that.” Ondolemar smirked as he pulled away – the first expression near a smile to cross his face in three weeks – and leaned down to kiss the Bosmer.

As their lips met, Ondolemar felt all of the tension from the argument with the Jarl fly right out of him. It was as though it had never happened, it had never annoyed him; all that existed was Ryndoril, the gorgeous wood elf who had finally, finally returned to him. 

“Ah, love,” Ryndoril murmured in between soft kisses. “You get so tense when I’m gone.” He had felt Ondolemar relax as soon as they kissed; it was clear the Altmer had been worked up while he was gone, and though he was eager to share everything with him, they needed each other first.

“I can’t help it,” Ondolemar admitted, pressing light kisses along Ryndoril’s jaw. “I missed you and I was worried after…the Ambassador…”

“I know,” Ryndoril said softly, sighing pleasantly as the Altmer reached his ear. “But I’m perfectly fine.

“Thank the gods,” Ondolemar muttered, nibbling Ryndoril’s ear tip gently with his teeth. The Bosmer shuddered. 

Their words died down to a minimum as they put more effort into their kisses, each quickly undressing the other until they were both bared. Ondolemar pushed Ryndoril down onto the bed, devouring him with kisses, and fetched the lubricating oil without breaking contact with the other mer.

“Ondolemar,” Ryndoril whimpered when the Altmer pulled away to open the bottle. Ryndoril was already hard from the kisses and strokes of his sensitive ears, along with having missed his lover so very much. Ondolemar smiled.

“Patience, Ryn,” he lectured, slowly coating his fingers with the oil in full view of Ryndoril, purposely driving him crazy.

“I’ve been patient long enough,” Ryndoril replied cheekily, thrusting up to where Ondolemar still sat astride him. “I don’t want to wait any longer for you.” Ondolemar laughed softly.

“Nor do I,” the Altmer confessed, setting the little bottle of oil aside and sliding down Ryndoril’s body. Ondolemar couldn’t help sitting and admiring him for just a moment; his elf was gorgeous, of course, but not seeing him for three weeks had made it even more apparent. His toned body, spread out before Ondolemar; his skin that was just a few shades darker than Ondolemar’s own golden tones; his lovely red hair spread across Ondolemar’s pillow.

 _Gorgeous_.

With a pleased smile, he let one hand run down Ryndoril’s torso, stroking down his chest and his stomach, while the hand with oil-coated fingers slid up his thigh, finally brushing the tight hole Ryndoril was so desperate to have touched. 

“Fuck,” Ryndoril hissed, his eyes closing. Ondolemar chuckled. He started to press a finger inside the other mer and felt Ryndoril’s hips buck.

“None of that,” Ondolemar smirked, holding the Bosmer’s hips down with his free hand. Ryndoril’s body eagerly took his long finger, easily stretching for a second.

“ _Yes_ , love, oh _gods_ ,” Ryndoril panted. He was still trying to buck against Ondolemar’s hold on him. Ondolemar was twitching with every breathless sound Ryndoril made; he was desperate to get inside the mer. Fortunately it never took much to get Ryndoril ready for him, and so it wasn’t long before he removed his fingers, stroking himself and pressing against Ryndoril’s entrance.

“I missed you, Ryn,” Ondolemar breathed, reaching his free hand up to stroke Ryndoril’s face, going back to his ear and caressing it.

“Oh, divines,” Ryndoril moaned with the touches. “I missed you, too…please, Ondolemar… _please_ , love!”

“So impatient,” Ondolemar laughed softly. He was quite as impatient himself, though, and started to push into the other elf.

“Oh, yes,” Ryndoril hissed fiercely, his lustful eyes gazing into Ondolemar’s. Finally Ondolemar had hilted himself inside the Bosmer and stilled with a sigh. He loved feeling himself inside Ryndoril like this; claiming him, taking him for his own. It wasn’t long before he couldn’t take it anymore, though, and pulled back out of him to slam in again.

“Oh, gods,” Ondolemar groaned as he felt himself sliding in and out of Ryndoril. Oh, but this was divine!

“Yes, love,” Ryndoril encouraged, reaching up to stroke Ondolemar’s pointed ear, making the Altmer shudder and groan as he thrust into Ryndoril. “That’s it. Oh, gods…”

Ryndoril reached his other hand down, starting to stroke himself, but Ondolemar noticed.

“No, Ryn,” Ondolemar breathed, pushing his hand away. “Let me. Let me take care of you.” Ryndoril smiled tenderly up at his lover as Ondolemar took his length, stroking him to match his thrusts. He loved when Ondolemar was so kind and loving like this.

Ondolemar leaned over as well as he could, stretching his neck to be able to kiss Ryndoril. Their tongues danced together as Ondolemar thrust into Ryndoril, stroking him harder with every thrust.

Each of them was quite breathless now, and given that Ryndoril had been offered little privacy to allow taking care of himself for three weeks, it wasn’t long before he was approaching his climax. He groaned out Ondolemar’s name, and the Altmer, taking the cue, thrust into him harder to match his strokes.

“Oh, yes, love, _yes_ , please, _gods_!” Ryndoril cried, and suddenly he was spilling over Ondolemar’s hand, across his own stomach and chest.

“Fuck,” Ondolemar groaned as Ryndoril tightened around him, pulling his release from him though he wasn’t ready for it to end just yet. “Fuck!”

“That’s right, come for me, love,” Ryndoril panted, his voice strained as he started to come down from his high. He reached a hand up to tug at Ondolemar’s ear, making the Altmer growl as he thrust a final time inside of him. Ryndoril smiled as Ondolemar stopped thrusting, tucking a strand of golden hair behind the pointed ear. 

“Auri-El, Ryn,” Ondolemar breathed. “Gods, I needed that.” Ryndoril laughed.

“So did I,” he agreed, pulling Ondolemar’s hair until the mer’s lips pressed against his own. “It’s nice to be back.” Ondolemar smiled tiredly at the elf, brushing a few pieces of hair away from Ryndoril’s face before pulling out of him. 

“Rest with me?” Ondolemar asked, settling himself next to Ryndoril and wrapping his arms around the Bosmer.

“Of course, love,” Ryndoril assured him, snuggling into his grip. Nothing felt better than being back in his lover’s arms after so long.

“We’ll talk later, yes?” Ondolemar murmured against Ryndoril’s hair. Ryndoril laughed at how sleepy the Altmer already was.

“We will,” Ryndoril promised, squeezing Ondolemar’s arm to him. He thought it was much more enjoyable to simply relax in Ondolemar’s arms right now than to think about the conversation later, so he did just that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go, a bit of steamy time between my favorite elves :) Hope you enjoy!!


	4. Chapter 4

Elenwen was pacing furiously in her office at the Embassy. She’d increased the patrols of the Justiciars – ensuring Ondolemar didn’t know, of course – hoping to catch the Dragonborn doing _something_ that could justify her bringing him in. She wasn’t willing to just go for it, not yet; Ondolemar had made a point about him being an ally, and others had heard him. Specifically the other elf just under her – Second Emissary Nyslian.

Nyslian had made herself quite clear that she agreed with Ondolemar’s assessment of the situation, and she would not hold with capturing the Dragonborn if he didn’t defy them in some way. Elenwen knew she had the Third Emissary, Rulindil, on her side, but with the second-in-command against it…well, she’d have to bide her time. She knew Nyslian held more popularity with their superiors than she herself did.

It _was_ ridiculous, though, she fumed. Was she really the only one who could see the danger a supposed Dragonborn posed to the Thalmor? As though he would be their ally! The Dragonborn was a Nord hero; Bosmer or no, the Nords would claim him for their own. He posed nothing but a _threat_ to the Thalmor, as far as Elenwen was concerned. But without full support, there was little she could do.

“Madame Elenwen?” a voice called, a knock on the door frame. Elenwen stopped pacing, ready to snap at whatever guard had bothered her, but saw Nyslian herself standing there.

“What is it, Nyslian?” she asked impatiently.

“I was wondering if I might have a word with you,” Nyslian said, her voice soft as ever. Elenwen tried to keep from snapping at her – she had always hated the soft-spoken female mer. She was too _kindly_ for such a high position.

“What is it now?” Elenwen asked, turning and sitting behind her desk. Perhaps it was better if she stopped pacing, anyway. It wasn’t getting her anywhere.

“I heard you increased some of the patrols, with orders to look for the Dragonborn,” Nyslian said, taking a seat across from the Ambassador. “I didn’t give my approval for this.”

“Rulindil did,” Elenwen said at once.

“Madame, if I may ask,” Nyslian said, her voice harder than usual, “why are you so desperate to capture this mer? He has done nothing to us, and Ondolemar said he could prove an ally. He’s a wood elf, for Auri-El’s sake – a higher race. What is causing this?”

“It is none of your business why I make the decisions I do,” Elenwen said coldly. “All you need to know is that I believe him to be more valuable as my – as a Thalmor prisoner,” she corrected herself quickly, “than out where he can destroy more of my patrols. You heard, I presume, that he killed the four Justiciars who found him?”

“I did,” Nyslian frowned. “I also heard it was a fight for his life. Anyone would fight to defend themselves, Elenwen.”

“It matters not,” Elenwen snapped. “The fact is that I wish the Dragonborn to be in Thalmor custody, and that is what I will continue to attempt, one way or another.”

“You know, if you want him on our side so badly, you could just ask him,” Nyslian said. “Invite him to the Embassy. Treat him as a guest, rather than a prisoner.” Elenwen smiled coldly. No, that wouldn’t do – that would _never_ do. They said the Dragonborn was powerful; clearly he was powerful enough to kill a band of Justiciars on his own. Her greatest joy in life had always been breaking the powerful, making them squirm as she broke them down into weak, sniveling messes. And, of course, the danger he posed as a possible Nord ally. Though that didn’t seem quite as important to her.

After she’d had to let Ulfric Stormcloak go, the desire had only gotten more potent. She tried and tried, but they were all so weak-willed – every prisoner she’d taken since the Nord man had broken too easily for her tastes. She craved the joy of breaking a powerful man again, craved it like a skooma addict craved their next bottle – and if it had to be a Bosmer, so be it.

She wouldn’t lie, not to herself, anyway – this was personal. It had much less to do with the politics of the Dragonborn than her own desires.

“No, Nyslian,” Elenwen finally said. “If the Dragonborn is to come to the Embassy, he will be in chains. You are dismissed.” Nyslian sighed, getting up from her chair and walking out the door – there would be no arguing with the Ambassador on this. She was feeling like the older mer had lost her mind; she was hell-bent on capturing the Dragonborn, and it didn’t sound like she had a reason. Sure, she’d mentioned the supposed ‘danger’ the Dragonborn would pose, but it seemed to Nyslian that it was utterly foolish to think that way. The Dragonborn had given them no cause to think he was moving against them.

Nyslian herself had never been all that keen on torture; she understood the necessity, but she’d never taken pleasure in it to the degree that Elenwen and even Rulindil did. She hated the thought of a fellow elf – even if he was a Bosmer and not an Altmer – chained up while Elenwen tortured him.

There wasn’t anything else to do, though, besides trying to go to Alinor and see if she could convince them that Elenwen needed to go. She didn’t think it would do very much, but perhaps it would be enough. She liked the idea of having the Dragonborn as their ally; Ondolemar had made an excellent point about the power he would bring to their side. Remaining hopeful, she decided she’d have to travel to Alinor soon. She would try to fix this.

*****

Ryndoril sat next to Ondolemar in his bed in Vlindrel Hall, each of them holding a bottle of wine. They were finally alone with time to talk about what Ryndoril had learned.

“All right, Ryn,” Ondolemar said, reaching for Ryndoril’s hand as they leaned against the headboard casually. Ryndoril smiled, interlacing his fingers with the Altmer’s. “You’re being very serious about all this. Tell me.”

“Well, I went to see the Greybeards,” Ryndoril said. “They didn’t think much of the fact that I wasn’t a Nord.” Ondolemar snorted in distaste. “But they taught me a new Shout, then sent me off on an errand.”

“What do these Shouts do, exactly?” Ondolemar asked curiously, taking a drink of his wine. Ryndoril grinned, considering showing him, but decided a Shout was a bit too loud to disturb the city with so late at night.

“Well, the first one I learned sends people flying,” Ryndoril chuckled. “They told me it says ‘unrelenting force’ in the dragon tongue. The other one they taught me means ‘whirlwind sprint’ – it makes me move unbelievably fast. I’ll show you sometime, if you want.”

“Amazing,” Ondolemar murmured, contemplating this. “So you’ve been off on their errand all this time?”

“Well, I spent a little over a week with them,” Ryndoril said. “They’re a bit…well, out of touch with the world,” he added. “Time means something different to them up there. After that, I went on their errand. They wanted this artifact from their founder, and it was buried with him in an old Nord tomb. So I went through it, only to find the damn thing wasn’t there. There was a note instead.”

“A note?” Ondolemar asked in surprise. “Someone else had gotten it first?”

“Yep,” Ryndoril nodded, drinking from his wine bottle. “It was addressed to the Dragonborn – they obviously wanted to meet me. So I did as the note said and went to meet them – “

“You _went_?” Ondolemar asked, turning to Ryndoril in shock. “Ryndoril, that’s a trap if I ever heard of one!”

“Oh, believe me, that’s what I thought, too,” Ryndoril laughed, squeezing Ondolemar’s fingers reassuringly. “Don’t worry. I didn’t go in unprepared.”

“Was it…was it Thalmor?” Ondolemar asked anxiously. Ryndoril smiled at the protective tone in Ondolemar’s voice.

“It wasn’t,” Ryndoril assured him. “Don’t worry. I haven’t had any trouble from anyone besides draugr and bandits since I left.” He saw Ondolemar relax.

“So who was it that left the note?” Ondolemar pressed on. “What did they want with you?”

“Well, it was a woman,” Ryndoril said hesitantly. “And she…seemed to know a little bit about the dragons. She wanted to meet me because she wants to work with me to rid Skyrim of the dragon threat.”

“And who is this mysterious woman?” Ondolemar asked, annoyed on Ryndoril’s behalf.

“Well…it turns out she’s a member of the Blades,” Ryndoril said cautiously. Ondolemar sat up straight, gaping at Ryndoril. “Her name is – “

“Delphine,” Ondolemar said through gritted teeth, his mouth snapping shut.

“Er…yeah,” Ryndoril nodded. “I take it she’s right about the Thalmor being after her?”

“We have been after her for over two decades,” Ondolemar said tightly. “You know where she is? What did you tell her? Is she – “

“Whoa, relax, love,” Ryndoril said calmly, stroking his fingers across Ondolemar’s hand – the Altmer had let go of him in his surprise. “I do know where she is, but I might still need her for this dragon business. I didn’t tell her anything at all – I let her rant about the Thalmor being after her and just kept my mouth shut.”

“What does she know?” Ondolemar demanded, starting to get to his feet. “Where is she? I swear, when I get my hands on her – “

“She doesn’t actually know very much,” Ryndoril sighed. “Love, please. Can we keep discussing this? You’re not going off after her tonight.”

“You don’t understand,” Ondolemar snapped, his knuckles white where he clutched his wine bottle. “That infernal woman has escaped our grasp more times than I can possibly tell you. If you know where she is, so help me, elf – “

“Hey,” Ryndoril said, getting to his feet as well and narrowing his eyes at the Altmer. “Since when am I ‘elf’ to you?” Ondolemar looked back at him finally, looking faintly surprised.

“I – I didn’t – I mean – “ Ondolemar said, much less eloquent than he usually was. He let out a sigh. “I’m sorry, Ryn.” He knew he’d hurt the Bosmer with his reaction and he felt bad, but… _Delphine_!

“You need to calm down,” Ryndoril said firmly. “At the very least hear me out, will you? If it makes you feel any better, she has no idea I know you, and I’m supposed to meet her again in a couple of weeks. She’s not going anywhere for the time being, and you have at least two weeks to go after her, if that’s what you need to do.”

“Right,” Ondolemar said, feeling rather annoyed with himself. He didn’t like to lose control like that; he was too calm and level-headed for that. “Right. Okay.”

“Sit back down, love,” Ryndoril said, his voice more gentle now as he tugged on the sleeve of Ondolemar’s Thalmor robes. 

“All right,” Ondolemar said, forcing himself to calm down. Ryndoril was right; the woman had no idea anything had changed, and if she was still supposed to meet the Bosmer soon, she wasn’t going anywhere. He had time. He settled back onto the bed next to Ryndoril and took another drink to calm himself. “So…Delphine. The Blade. The protector of the Dragonborn.”

“Right,” Ryndoril nodded. “Uh…not that she seems like a good candidate.”

“What do you mean?” Ondolemar asked, still feeling on edge.

“I mean that before she’d believe I was really the Dragonborn, she took me with her to kill a dragon,” Ryndoril explained. “Except I did all the work. She might’ve wet herself, but that’s about all she managed.” Ondolemar snorted in laughter at that.

“All right. Why did she leave you the note? Why did she suddenly want to meet you?”

“She wanted to make sure I wasn’t a Thalmor plant,” Ryndoril smirked. “She’s awfully paranoid about you lot.”

“Well, she should be,” Ondolemar said dryly. “Did she have any information to share with you?”

“The most she had is that she’s noticed a pattern with the dragons emerging,” Ryndoril explained. “She has this map of the ancient dragon burial mounds, and she visited a few of them and found out they were empty. She realized where the next one would happen – that’s where she took me to kill it.”

“They’re empty?” Ondolemar asked, surprised. Ryndoril nodded.

“She said the dragons are coming back to life,” Ryndoril said. “And that’s exactly what we saw happen. You remember the one that attacked Helgen?”

“Of course,” Ondolemar said.

“Well, it looks like he’s resurrecting the other ones,” Ryndoril said, shaking his head. “I don’t know how. Spoke something to it in the dragon language, and this other dragon came out of the burial mound. The big black one flew off, telling the resurrected one to kill us. Well, I killed him instead.”

“You’ve killed two dragons now?” Ondolemar asked incredulously. “By yourself?”

“Well, the Whiterun guards helped with the first one,” Ryndoril said. “But this one…yeah. Oh!” he added with a grin, getting to his feet and going over to his pack. “I almost forgot. I’ve got a present for you.”

“I beg your pardon?” Ondolemar asked, bewildered. Ryndoril rifled through his pack until he found one of the shiny gray scales.

“Here you go,” Ryndoril said proudly, presenting Ondolemar with the dragon scale. “Just for you, love.” Ondolemar took it slowly, almost reverently.

“Is this…a dragon scale?” he murmured, examining it.

“Yeah,” Ryndoril said. “Not many left…see, after I take the dragon’s soul, it kind of bursts into flames. But there were a few, anyway, so I took some.”

“That is…incredible,” Ondolemar admitted, his eyes wide as he turned the scale over in his hands. Ryndoril got back on the bed with him. “This…from a real dragon. That you killed.” He started to hand it back to Ryndoril, but the Bosmer pushed it back to him.

“No, you keep it,” Ryndoril said softly. “To remember your dragonslayer when he’s not around.” Ondolemar looked up to catch the signature grin on Ryndoril’s face, and couldn’t help but smile back.

“Thank you, Ryn,” Ondolemar said, tucking it into his robes. He would truly cherish it, even if no one else ever knew of it. “Right, then. So what happened after you defeated the dragon?”

“She agreed that I was the Dragonborn and told me what she knew,” Ryndoril said. “It wasn’t much. She told me she was part of the Blades, and the Thalmor have been after her for years. She is also convinced the Thalmor are behind the dragons returning.”

“And did you tell her that we are not?” Ondolemar asked indignantly.

“Yes,” Ryndoril snorted sarcastically. “I told the _Blade_ – who already knows you’re after her – that I’m best friends with the Thalmor, and have their assurances that the dragons aren’t their fault.” Ondolemar gave him a dirty look. “Of course I didn’t. What could I have said? I didn’t want to mention that I had any contact with the Thalmor until I spoke with you.”

“All right, then,” Ondolemar said. “So if she thinks it’s us, what does she plan to do about it? Is she going to attack?”

“Nah,” Ryndoril said. “I don’t think she’s brave enough to do anything like that, and it seems to be just her. She pretty much said she’d think about it and to talk to her in a couple of weeks, she might have a plan then.”

“So it sounds like I will need to go speak with our _dear_ Ambassador again,” Ondolemar sighed, hating the thought. “To see if anything at all is known.”

“I don’t know,” Ryndoril said hesitantly. “I know she’ll want to go after Delphine, but I think it’s in our best interest to leave her alive for now. If the Thalmor do find out anything…well, if she was a Blade before, she might be able to help understand anything you would uncover. _I_ certainly don’t know anything about it. It’s probably better for her to stay alive, at least until we learn what we need to know, or the dragons are taken care of.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Ondolemar admitted. “Though we have ways of making people talk whether they want to or not.”

“I’m sure,” Ryndoril said dryly; he understood what the Altmer was implying, but didn’t much care to think very hard about it. “But trust me when I say…I met her, and she’d kill herself before allowing the Thalmor to take her. And then we’d be out of luck anyway.”

“So what you’re proposing is essentially a sort of undercover alliance?” Ondolemar asked, shaking his head. “This is madness.”

“Yeah,” Ryndoril laughed. “It is. But I don’t know what else to do just yet. If we had more information it would be different, but…”

“Yes, I know,” Ondolemar said. “All right. Well, for now, you will go along with her…and report anything you find out to me.”

“You talk like you’re my superior,” Ryndoril grinned. “Since when do I _report_ to you?”

“Since I told you to,” Ondolemar smirked, squeezing Ryndoril’s hand playfully. “So you do as I order.”

“Yes, my lord,” Ryndoril laughed, mocking Ondolemar’s guards. Ondolemar chuckled.


	5. Chapter 5

“You’ll be careful, won’t you?” Ondolemar asked, a slightly desperate tone to his voice. It was around a week after Ryndoril had returned, and the two were lying in the Bosmer’s bed in Vlindrel Hall. Lydia had come to visit Argis for a few days and they had agreed to go to the inn for the night, leaving Ryndoril alone with Ondolemar.

Ondolemar was lying on Ryndoril’s bare chest, the Bosmer’s arms around him, unable to fall asleep as he usually did after they made love. He was too worried. Ryndoril was leaving the next morning to go to High Hrothgar and then to see Delphine, and Ondolemar had a terrible feeling about the whole thing. He couldn’t exactly accompany the wood elf, but he wished rather fervently that he could.

“Of course I will, love,” Ryndoril said soothingly, stroking the Altmer’s hair. He’d picked up on Ondolemar’s nerves throughout the evening, though he tried to reassure him that everything would be fine. It wasn’t as though he never went off to do dangerous things, and going to High Hrothgar and Riverwood hardly counted as dangerous. Regardless, Ondolemar was clearly very anxious, and Ryndoril wanted to comfort him as well as he could. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“You better be,” Ondolemar murmured. Ryndoril smiled, squeezing him gently for a moment in a hug.

“You worry too much,” Ryndoril said. “I’ll be fine, love. It’s not like I’m going through an old crypt or battling a dragon.”

“You hope,” Ondolemar snorted. Ryndoril had to laugh softly at that.

“Well, true,” he admitted. “Really, though. You can’t worry yourself to death over me while I’m gone. Then what would I have to come back to?”

“I just know the Ambassador suspects something,” Ondolemar sighed. “I just know she’s going to do something, sooner or later, and I have no way of preventing it.”

“Yeah,” Ryndoril nodded, turning his head to press a kiss to Ondolemar’s forehead, “but I know it, too. Which means I’ll be extra-alert.”

“I know,” Ondolemar admitted. “I’m sorry, Ryn.”

“Don’t be sorry, love,” Ryndoril murmured, putting both arms around the Altmer now. “I understand you’re worried. I just wish you wouldn’t let it get to you so _much_.”

“I’m trying,” Ondolemar said quietly. It was rather unlike him to let something affect him so much, but he had never felt this way about anyone before in his life; he needed Ryndoril like he needed air, and the idea of that being taken away from him was crushing.

“Listen,” Ryndoril said. “How about when I get back, and I have a few days to breathe, we’ll use a couple of the stable’s horses and go for a ride?” 

“Really?” Ondolemar asked, twisting his head up to look at the Bosmer. Ryndoril grinned at him.

“Sure,” Ryndoril nodded. “If that would make you happy.”

“You remaining alive makes me happy,” Ondolemar said dryly, settling himself on the elf’s chest again. “But…yes. I would like that very much.”

“Then we will,” Ryndoril smiled, trailing his fingers through Ondolemar’s long hair. “Promise.”

“All right,” Ondolemar nodded, finally starting to feel relaxed enough to head toward sleep.

“Don’t drive yourself mad while I’m gone,” Ryndoril said. Ondolemar allowed himself a small smile.

“I promise nothing,” Ondolemar replied. “But…I will try.”

“That’s about what I expected,” Ryndoril laughed softly. He kissed the Altmer’s forehead again. “Go to sleep, love.”

“Good night, Ryn,” Ondolemar murmured. _My Ryn_ , he added in his head.

“Good night,” Ryndoril whispered back.

*****

After getting the horn to the Greybeards, Ryndoril made his way back down the mountain and over to Riverwood. The Greybeards had seemed rather indifferent about his achievement, but nonetheless formally recognized him as the Dragonborn – a ceremony of sorts that mostly left him confused – and he decided he was going to deal with them as little as possible after that.

He didn’t care for the fact that they didn’t seem to mind what was happening with the world and the dragons; they didn’t seem to care about _anything_ that happened beyond the doors of High Hrothgar. But, he thought wryly, at least he had Delphine to help him.

“Good, you’re back,” Delphine greeted him without preamble when he walked into the inn mid-afternoon. “You weren’t followed, were you?”

“No, Delphine,” Ryndoril said, smirking slightly. If she had any idea where he’d been…

“Good,” she nodded. “Then come on.” She led him down to her secret basement room, the only place she felt secure enough talking.

“So did you come up with any answers?” Ryndoril asked, plopping himself casually into a chair on one side of the table.

“Actually, I did come up with something interesting,” Delphine nodded, picking up a piece of paper from the table. She handed it to Ryndoril. “Just a few days ago, I came across two Justiciars who were carrying this.”

_By order of the First Emissary;_

_You are to be on the lookout for an old Nord called Esbern. He is a powerful enemy and will need to be approached with caution. It is believed he has information about the dragons, and so he is not to be killed. If found, bring him to the Thalmor Embassy for questioning._

_Elenwen_

“And you asked them politely to hand it over?” Ryndoril grinned, looking back up at Delphine. She made a face.

“Of course not,” she said, shaking her head. “They tried to kill me, so I killed them.” Ryndoril’s eyes widened.

“You killed them both?”

“Well, they were already being attacked by a bear,” Delphine admitted, and Ryndoril rolled his eyes – he should have known she didn’t handle it on her own. “But essentially, yes. The point is – the Thalmor are after Esbern, and we need to find out what they know about him.”

“Who is Esbern?” Ryndoril asked. He was sure he’d heard the name before, but he couldn’t figure out where.

“He was a Blade as well,” Delphine said. “I was sure the Thalmor had already gotten him, years ago – but it seems like he’s still alive.”

“And why do we need him? Why do _they_ need him, for that matter? What sort of information does he have?”

“He was an archivist for the Blades,” Delphine explained. “He studied all the old lore and history of the Blades, the dragons – everything. If anyone knows what the return of the dragons means, it’s going to be him – but we have to find him before the Thalmor do.”

“Esbern,” Ryndoril frowned, thinking hard. “ _Esbern_ …dammit. I know that name, but I don’t know why.”

“You’ve heard his name before?” Delphine asked eagerly. “Do you remember where?”

“No,” Ryndoril said, frustrated. 

“Damn,” Delphine sighed, disappointed. “Well, I did come up with a plan. We need to know if the Thalmor know where he is, at least. Or even have him, at this point.”

“Right,” Ryndoril nodded, his mind going to Ondolemar. Surely the mer would be able to tell him.

“To do that, we need to get you into the Embassy,” Delphine pressed on. “Once you’re inside, you can search around for any information – “

“Wait a minute,” Ryndoril interrupted indignantly. “ _Me?_ You want to send me into enemy territory by myself?”

“Would you rather I came with you and got caught, too?” Delphine snapped. “What good would that do?”

“It’s better than being a damn coward,” Ryndoril muttered. True, he knew he didn’t really need to _face_ the danger, but the fact that she assumed he did and still tried to put him in it rankled him.

“I’m not being a coward, I’m being sensible,” Delphine retorted. “Anyway. I think I’ve found a way to get you in unnoticed.”

“What?” Ryndoril asked, bewildered. She had found a way to actually infiltrate the Embassy?

“Elenwen throws these parties every so often,” Delphine explained. “A way to placate the nobility of Skyrim…and hear the latest gossip. If we can get you an invite to one of those parties, you just attend, find a way to slip away, then search the rest of the place while the party’s happening. Find your information, slip back in, no harm done.”

“Are you kidding me?” Ryndoril demanded. “You want me to sneak into a place where you’re sure everyone’s trying to kill me, and you expect there to be ‘no harm done’? Are you out of your damn mind?” He was getting angry now; that didn’t happen very often, but the callous way she was treating the value of his life was really getting to him.

“Do you have a better plan?” Delphine asked impatiently. “Look, I know it’s risky, but I’ve got a contact inside the Embassy who’ll help you out. All you have to do is act the part and search the place while everyone’s at the party.”

“Right,” Ryndoril snorted. “Because there’s no way at all anywhere else in the Embassy will be guarded. Everything will be totally empty except for the party.”

“No,” Delphine sighed, “of course not. But – “

“Delphine, that is the worst idea I’ve ever heard, and I’ve gotten into a drinking contest with the Daedric prince of debauchery,” Ryndoril interrupted.

“Well maybe if you could figure out where you’d heard the name before, we could come up with something else!” Delphine snapped.

“You don’t think I’m trying?” Ryndoril retorted angrily. “Esbern…old Nord man…wait!” he cried, jerking upright with his realization. “It was in Riften. In the Ratway! I heard the Guild talking about him!”

“You’re in the Thieves Guild?” Delphine asked, narrowing her eyes.

“Yes,” Ryndoril said, waving his hand impatiently. “I’ve definitely heard them talking about him. I’m sure I can get someone to tell me what they know about him. Maybe they’ll even help me find him!”

“Are you sure?” Delphine asked anxiously. “I mean, if he is in Riften, the Ratway would be a pretty good place to hide out…”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Ryndoril said, feeling a little excited. He only hoped the Thalmor weren’t around yet; he had to get to Esbern, and Ondolemar would be less than pleased if he had to kill more Justiciars. “Come on. Let’s go!” He got to his feet at once.

“Are you kidding?” Delphine snorted. “If they’re looking for him, it’s only a matter of time before they find him. If they find him, you, and me, who else is left? Besides,” she added, “I’m not dealing with the Thieves Guild at all. Just my luck the Dragonborn is a criminal…”

“Oh, shut up,” Ryndoril said, rolling his eyes. “You barely know me. But fine, if you’re too afraid to go, then I’ll go by myself.”

“I’m not afraid,” Delphine said indignantly.

“Whatever you say,” Ryndoril smirked. “Look, I’ve got one other thing I’ve got to take care of first, but then I’ll go find Esbern.”

“All right,” Delphine huffed. “You just better make it fast. If they find him first…”

“I know, I know,” Ryndoril nodded. He was just glad he didn’t have to pretend to agree to her terrible plan. He was, however, going to inform Ondolemar of the idea anyway; if this half-witted woman could come up with it, so could anyone else who wanted to get into the Embassy. “I’ll get it taken care of.”

“Bring him back here when you find him,” Delphine said urgently. “And listen…he’s even more paranoid than I am. Especially with you being an elf…he’s going to have a hard time believing you. Tell him I sent you…and if he won’t believe you, ask him what happened on the thirtieth of Frostfall.”

“Thirtieth Frostfall,” Ryndoril nodded. “All right. Will do. I’ll be back soon.” With that, he got up and left, glad to have the woman behind him.

He hurried to Whiterun, wanting to get a head start on going to Markarth. It was quite out of the way if he needed to go to Riften, but he _had_ to tell Ondolemar what had happened and what was going on. Bad enough to make the Commander keep things from the Ambassador without keeping new information under wraps as well. 

*****

Ryndoril found Ondolemar just outside his room in the Keep, arguing with his guards. It seemed the guards were trying to get some kind of information from him, but he wasn’t giving it to them and said it wasn’t their business.

“I’ve got some information myself,” Ryndoril spoke up, and all three turned to look at him. He saw relief on Ondolemar’s face, but annoyance under the helmets of both the guards.

“Ryndoril, I’m glad you’re here,” Ondolemar said, nodding. “I’ve some information for you as well.”

“Oh, you’ll share information with _him_ ,” Cyndil said scathingly.

“This is information you already know about,” Ondolemar snapped impatiently. “You were sent the same letter by the Ambassador as I was. I suggest you refrain from questioning me, Cyndil. You know everything you need to, and if further information is to be passed on, I will tell you.”

“My lord,” Rolain spoke up in an annoyed voice, “you must understand we simply want to assist – “

“I do not require any more assistance than what I ask of you,” Ondolemar growled. “Now if you’re so impatient for something to do, I suggest you go patrol the city for any sign of this blasted Esbern.”

“Yes, my lord,” Cyndil said resentfully as both guards started to walk away. Ondolemar shook his head in annoyance but beckoned Ryndoril closer. “Come in, Ryndoril.”

Making sure the guards were out of sight, Ryndoril shut the door to Ondolemar’s room behind them and wrapped his arms around the elf in a hug. They both breathed a sigh of relief.

“Missed you,” Ryndoril said teasingly as he pulled away. Ondolemar laughed softly.

“I missed you, too,” the Altmer admitted. “You’ve no idea how ridiculously dull it is around here without you.”

“Well, I’m here for tonight, and probably tomorrow night, too,” Ryndoril grinned. “I’ve got some information for you, but I also wanted to stock up on some more potions. So I’ll be taking time to do that.”

“Well, it’s better than not seeing you at all,” Ondolemar said dryly. “What information do you bring?”

“What information do _you_ have?” Ryndoril asked eagerly. “I heard you mention Esbern.”

“You know of him?” Ondolemar asked curiously. “I received a note shortly after you left from the Ambassador requesting us to keep an eye out for him.”

“I know,” Ryndoril nodded. “Actually, Delphine found the note on a couple Justiciars that she attacked.”

“She attacked them?” Ondolemar asked, startled.

“Well, from what she said, they were fighting a bear, and she came across them,” Ryndoril explained. “They were probably half-dead anyway, but she said she finished them off when they tried to kill her. I don’t know if I believe her, but…”

“She killed two Justiciars?” Ondolemar repeated, anger in his voice now.

“I know,” Ryndoril said, frowning. “I’m sorry, love. But it turns out she knows Esbern.”

“Of course she does,” Ondolemar said, shaking himself away from the anger. “He’s a Blade as well.”

“She told me,” Ryndoril nodded. “Well, she said he will definitely have information about the dragons…and I need it. You don’t happen to know where he is, do you?”

“No idea,” Ondolemar said regretfully. “That’s why the Ambassador sent out the notes to every Justiciar. She wants the country searched.”

“Right,” Ryndoril said. “Well, I might have an idea. I don’t know where he is, but I might know someone who does.”

“Who?” Ondolemar asked eagerly. Ryndoril regarded him thoughtfully for a moment.

“I’d rather not say,” he finally replied. “Don’t misunderstand me; it isn’t that I don’t trust you. It’s just that…well, the ‘someone’ I’m talking about doesn’t have anything to do with all of this, and I don’t want him to get hurt. Besides,” he added, “I got Delphine to tell me how to make Esbern trust me. If he sees me showing up wherever he is with a pack of Thalmor on my heels, he’s probably going to disappear before I can learn anything.”

“All right,” Ondolemar sighed. “I understand. And I know you’ll _tell_ me what you learn,” he added pointedly.

“Of course I will,” Ryndoril smiled. “And hopefully this will all be over soon, and you can go after that damn Delphine.” Ondolemar snorted.

“You don’t care for her?” he asked.

“She’s ridiculous,” Ryndoril said, rolling his eyes. “But listen – I want to head to the house and get started on a few potions. I’ve got more to tell you, so do you want to come with me?”

“All right,” Ondolemar nodded; he’d love little more than spending the evening with the Bosmer.

“Might want to tell your guards not to expect you back,” Ryndoril added, lowering his voice and grinning. Ondolemar smirked.

“I presume I’ll be staying elsewhere tonight?” he asked.

“I sure hope so,” Ryndoril laughed.

*****

Outside, both of Ondolemar’s guards had their ears pressed against the door, listening hard.

“He’s betraying the Ambassador,” Cyndil whispered in disbelief. “He’s so head over heels for that Bosmer he’s actually keeping things from the Embassy.”

“I know,” Rolain said, shaking his head. “I can’t believe it.”

“What should we do?” Cyndil asked.

“We report it to the Ambassador and let her deal with it,” Rolain said. “I know he’s our superior, but she’s above him, even. She deserves to know she’s being lied to.”

“But what do we tell her?” Cyndil asked. “We don’t really _know_ anything.”

“We know Ondolemar’s hiding things from her, and working with the wood elf,” Rolain pointed out. “And we’re pretty sure the Commander’s sleeping with the wood elf, too. You know she wouldn’t like that.”

“True,” Cyndil sighed. “I don’t really want to get him in trouble, though. I mean, he’s a bit rude and biting…”

“He’s _really_ rude and biting,” Rolain said, rolling his eyes. “But the wood elf’s the one who’ll be in trouble. Most that’ll happen to Ondolemar is he’ll be sent back to Alinor.”

“True,” Cyndil admitted. “All right. We’ll go to the Embassy first thing in the morning.”

“Not like he’ll notice we’re gone,” Rolain agreed.


	6. Chapter 6

“So this woman, thinking that the Thalmor are going to try to kill me on sight if they find me, decides to try to get me to infiltrate the Embassy. By myself!”

“You know,” Ondolemar said, shaking his head, “I’ve heard stories of the loyalty of the Blades, back during the Oblivion Crisis when they were trying to protect the Emperor. They would’ve given anything to keep the Emperor from being harmed. It sounds like they’ve gotten a bit lost over the years.”

“You don’t say,” Ryndoril said dryly, shaking his head. 

The two were in Vlindrel Hall now, sharing a bottle of wine by the fire. Ryndoril had left a few potions to stew for a while, and decided to tell Ondolemar all about Delphine’s grand plan.

“How exactly did she plan to get you in?” Ondolemar wanted to know.

“One of the Ambassador’s parties,” Ryndoril said. “She seemed to think if I could get into the party, I could slip out unnoticed, go rifle through the Embassy, and come back without anyone seeing.”

“Madness,” Ondolemar said, shaking his head. “You’d be killed almost immediately. There are guards all over the place.”

“I assumed as much,” Ryndoril said. “She said she had a contact that could help me, though.”

“A contact?” Ondolemar asked sharply. “Who?”

“I…don’t actually know,” Ryndoril said sheepishly. “I was kind of focused on the idea of her plan, and didn’t get as far as asking who her contact was. The only thing she said was ‘a contact’ and that they could help me.”

“So we have a traitor inside the Embassy itself,” Ondolemar said, shaking his head. “And none of us even knew it.”

“Yeah,” Ryndoril sighed. “I’m sorry. I’ll see if I can get her to say anything else about them, though, when I see her again. Promise.” Ondolemar gave him a small smile.

“Good,” the elf nodded. “I’m quite glad we have you as an ally, you know.”

“Because I’m so good-looking?” Ryndoril grinned cheekily. Ondolemar snorted.

“Of course,” Ondolemar said, putting his arm around the wood elf. “It does make me anxious to be keeping this from the Ambassador, though.”

“I’m sure,” Ryndoril said sympathetically. “I’m sorry. You know I’m working as fast as I can on it.”

“I know you are,” Ondolemar nodded. He just didn’t want Elenwen to find out he was hiding things from her. There would be hell to pay.

“Listen,” Ryndoril said at once. “No more of this tonight, all right? No more Dragonborn or Elenwen or Thalmor business.”

“Then what do you suggest we talk about?” Ondolemar asked. Ryndoril grinned.

“I’m not sure much talking is required,” he teased. Ondolemar grinned back.

*****

Their following day was spent lounging around Ryndoril’s house, Ondolemar ignoring any duties that may come up for him. Sometimes it was good to just relax that way…and though he never did it on his own, when in the company of the Bosmer, it was all too easy.

He was a little surprised his guards hadn’t yet come to bother him, but didn’t complain; he’d take the peace and quiet from them. Argis had come in only briefly, letting Ryndoril know he was going to Whiterun.

In the early afternoon, Ryndoril suggested they go for a walk just outside Markarth’s gates; he knew Ondolemar was interested in seeing what his Shouts did, and was all too willing to show him. The Altmer found it highly amusing when Ryndoril used his unrelenting force Shout on a mudcrab that tried to attack them, finishing it off with a well-placed arrow.

“You know,” Ondolemar said, admiring Ryndoril’s technique, “you’re very good with that bow.” Ryndoril grinned.

“Thanks,” he said, pleased with the compliment; it wasn’t something Ondolemar typically did, so he appreciated it all the more. “Are you a good shot?”

“I’m afraid I’ve never held a bow in my life,” Ondolemar chuckled. “I much prefer magic.”

“I could show you, if you wanted,” Ryndoril offered. Ondolemar looked tempted, but then glanced around to see that there were Reach guards not that far away, and decided against it. He trusted Ryndoril, but he would not let himself look like a fool in front of anyone else.

“Perhaps another time,” Ondolemar said. “What about the other Shout you mentioned?”

“Whirlwind sprint,” Ryndoril grinned. He stowed his bow back away. “Stand back.” Preparing himself with a good amount of space in front of him, he Shouted, “ _Wuld_!” Barely a breath later, he was standing several yards away from where he’d been only a moment ago. He turned, laughing with exhilaration, back to Ondolemar. The Altmer looked rather stunned.

“Impressive,” Ondolemar said as the Bosmer came back toward him. “Why is there only one word for that one, and the other was three?”

“I haven’t learned the other two yet,” Ryndoril explained. “The Greybeards only taught me one word of it. Each Shout has three words.”

“How do you – “ Ondolemar started, but was interrupted by a guard.

“I need to ask you to stop,” the guard said, looking anxious. “That…shouting…is making people nervous.”

“Sorry,” Ryndoril grinned sheepishly, but Ondolemar broke in.

“And so what if it is making people nervous?” Ondolemar demanded. “The Dragonborn is in the company of the Thalmor Commander, and I have requested he show me his ability to Shout. I suggest you do not meddle in the affairs of the Thalmor.”

“Look, elf,” the guard began indignantly, but Ryndoril interrupted this time.

“Listen, it’s all right. Won’t happen again. I’ll keep my Shouting further from the city. Ondolemar…come on,” he added, tugging the Altmer’s robes when Ondolemar continued to merely stare contemptuously at the guard.

“You’re going to just let him order you around like that?” Ondolemar said angrily, though he did follow Ryndoril. “It isn’t any of his business – “

“He’s just doing his job,” Ryndoril said, shaking his head. “It’s a big power, you’ve seen that – bound to make people nervous.”

“You weren’t hurting anyone,” Ondolemar replied. “And besides, aren’t these Nords supposed to revere their precious _Dragonborn_?” He sneered so much at the title that Ryndoril stopped, frowning at him.

“Are you mocking me?” Ryndoril asked, a bit hurt. “I didn’t exactly choose this, you know.” Realizing what he’d said, Ondolemar’s shoulders sagged a bit.

“I’m sorry, Ryn,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You think it’s ridiculous,” Ryndoril guessed. “It should’ve been a Nord.”

“Yes, it should have,” Ondolemar said, his voice still quiet, though he kept his eyes locked on Ryndoril. “But if it wasn’t to be, I am pleased that it’s you. It’s an amazing power, I’m not denying that.”

“I don’t want you to resent me for this, Ondolemar,” Ryndoril replied. “Is it too Nord-like for your taste? Is that the problem? Do you really hate them so much that even this bothers you?”

“No,” Ondolemar said, frustrated with himself. That hadn’t been what he meant at all. “No, Ryn. If anyone deserves such Divine power, surely it’s an elf.”

“You mean that?” Ryndoril asked hopefully.

“Of course I mean it,” Ondolemar said softly, his voice sincere. “I’m proud that you’re the Dragonborn. I didn’t mean to be so rude, and I apologize. I simply was mocking the Nords. Not you. Never you.” Ryndoril smiled tentatively at that.

“But _shouldn’t_ they revere me?” Ryndoril asked cheekily. “I mean, I’m an elf after all, and Dragonborn on top of it…” It did as he’d hoped and broke the tension; Ondolemar laughed heartily at that.

“Indeed they ought to,” Ondolemar agreed, following Ryndoril back toward the city. “Indeed.”

*****

They made dinner together and enjoyed a bit of wine after, pointedly not discussing Ryndoril’s upcoming departure. Sometime after dark, Ryndoril took Ondolemar’s hand, pulling him up from where they’d been laying on the floor and tugging him out the door.

“Ryn, where are we going?” Ondolemar asked, shaking his head. He’d been quite content to simply relax the evening away.

“This way,” Ryndoril answered with a grin. Ondolemar rolled his eyes, but followed.

This sort of contentedness was something Ondolemar couldn’t remember ever feeling before. Spending the entire day with nothing else to do but be with Ryndoril, talking with him and learning more about him, was the best use of his time he could think of. He was worried, of course, with Ryndoril leaving first thing the following morning, but he found it hard to be overly concerned about _anything_ at the moment.

Ryndoril finally stopped in front of the waterfall they’d both deemed their favorite; hardly anyone else was around, as it was so late, and so they had the area to themselves. The misting spray of the falls danced around them in the light from the twin moons, and with everything else drowned out by the sound, it had a clearly ethereal feel.

“What on Nirn possessed you to come out here like this in the middle of the night?” Ondolemar asked, a small grin on his face.

“I just thought it would be fun,” Ryndoril replied, grinning his usual wide grin. He stepped closer to Ondolemar, putting his arms around the elf’s waist, and gazed up at him. “Isn’t it?” Ondolemar chuckled.

“Yes, I suppose it is,” Ondolemar agreed, putting his hands on Ryndoril’s neck as he leaned down to kiss him, a thumb brushing the Bosmer’s cheek.

“I love it when you smile,” Ryndoril confessed, as quietly as he could with the sound of the waterfall. Ondolemar’s cheeks turned pink.

“I can hardly help it around you,” Ondolemar replied. “There are so few pleasures in life as fine as your company.” Ryndoril’s grin lit up his face. “I enjoy it when you smile as well, you know.”

“I do it a lot,” Ryndoril laughed. He sighed contentedly, leaning his head on Ondolemar’s chest. The Altmer’s fingers stroked gently through his hair as they stood and listened to the waterfall.

“Ryn,” Ondolemar spoke up after several peaceful minutes. “I…actually have something for you.” Ryndoril pulled back, looking curiously up at Ondolemar.

“Really?”

“Yes,” Ondolemar said, and he pulled away from Ryndoril to reach into his robes. He pulled out an emerald amulet that was glowing a soft white. “It’s enchanted,” he explained, holding it out to Ryndoril. The Bosmer took it, looking at it.

“It’s beautiful,” Ryndoril murmured, running a finger along the emerald set into it. “And it’s like your eyes,” he added with a smile, looking up at Ondolemar. Ondolemar smiled back.

“I suppose it is,” he nodded. “I enchanted it myself, while you were gone. It will help protect you against magic.” Ryndoril’s eyes widened as he stared up at the Altmer.

“That’s…incredibly advanced,” Ryndoril said.

“I told you, I am good at what I do,” Ondolemar said, sounding proud. “It won’t keep all magic from touching you…that’s impossible…but it will make it far weaker.” He reached down and took it from Ryndoril’s grasp, slipping it around the Bosmer’s neck. Ryndoril’s heart thudded against his chest at the tender action. He pulled the mer down closer to him, kissing him softly, and felt Ondolemar return the kiss.

“It doesn’t work on all magic,” Ryndoril murmured as they pulled apart, his eyes on Ondolemar’s. The Altmer looked concerned for a moment before Ryndoril smiled. “Your kisses,” he explained, and Ondolemar reddened slightly even as he laughed.

“Well, I do hope it will protect you, should anything…unfortunate…happen,” Ondolemar said, stroking Ryndoril’s hair.

“Thank you, Ondolemar,” Ryndoril said sincerely. “It means everything to me. I won’t ever take it off.” Ondolemar kissed him again.

“Just stay safe,” Ondolemar pleaded, pressing his forehead against Ryndoril’s. “Please.”

“I will, love,” Ryndoril murmured. “I will.”

*****

“I knew that elf was lying to me,” Elenwen said contemptuously. Cyndil had just told her of what he and Rolain had overheard, and though she was angry, she was also overjoyed. This was _certainly_ reason enough to capture the Dragonborn, to show that he was working against them. Even turning their own agent against them! “Oh, he will pay.”

“Madame Ambassador,” Rolain spoke up anxiously, “I don’t think it was all Ondolemar’s fault. It’s that wood elf he’s been around, the Dragonborn.”

“Oh, I know,” Elenwen said coldly. “I will ensure the Dragonborn is dealt with. As for Ondolemar…leave him be for now. I have a special plan for him.” She paused to give a haughty smile to the two elves in front of her. “It was good of you both to come to me. Thank you for what you have told me. I will be speaking to those in Alinor about your contribution, but for now I need you to remain at Ondolemar’s side as his guards.”

“Yes, Madame,” they both said, though the air of excitement permeated them both. Alinor! That could only mean she was interested in promoting them.

“Do not mention to him that we have spoken,” Elenwen added. “Be careful that he does not know anything has occurred. Understood?”

“Of course, Madame,” they replied. 

“And do remember to come to me if you have any further information,” she finished. “I will be most interested to hear it.” Most interested indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh NO! Not *exactly* a cliffhanger, but close. I hope you all don't kill me, I gave you some adorable Ryndolemar fluff after all ;)
> 
> OK. For anyone who hadn't already seen it, this is the scene that was the inspiration for this [BEAUTIFUL artwork](http://chloexbowie.deviantart.com/art/Sunset-in-Markarth-Enchanted-Kiss-450660475) I commissioned from ChloexBowie over on DeviantArt. That's where Ryn gets his pretty green amulet.
> 
> I hope you're enjoying the story, and I hope you enjoy the picture (I know I did, it's still my favorite thing ever!) I promise I'll still update regularly so you won't be left wondering for too long. Chapters are generally going to get a little longer and more intense from here on out, because there's more story to tell.


	7. Chapter 7

“Hello, there, friend,” Etienne Rarnis smiled at Ryndoril when the Bosmer came into the Ragged Flagon a few days later. “Haven’t seen you in a while!”

“Been busy,” Ryndoril smiled back. He liked Etienne; the man was kind and fun to be around, and he’d always been a good friend to the Bosmer. “Looking for an old man named Esbern, and I’m pretty sure I’ve heard the name around here somewhere. Know anything?” Etienne frowned, thinking.

“Can’t say I’ve heard the name,” Etienne said, shaking his head slowly, “but I think there’s an old man that wanders through the Ratway sometimes. Don’t know where he lives, though.”

“Interesting,” Ryndoril murmured. Perhaps he could catch the man in the Ratway sometime?

“He seems a little crazy,” Etienne admitted. “So if you’re looking for anything important, it might not be him. You could ask Vekel, though.”

“Thanks,” Ryndoril smiled. “I will. Take care, Etienne.”

“You, too,” the Breton replied, waving and walking away as Ryndoril made his way over to the bar counter. Vekel was talking to Delvin, the old Breton thief who rarely moved from his bar stool.

“Ryndoril!” Vekel cried happily. “You’ve been a rare sight around here!”

“Sorry about that, Vekel,” Ryndoril said, setting five septims down on the bar. “Give me a bottle of that wine, would you?”

“Sure thing,” Vekel nodded, heading over to where he kept the stores of wine. It wasn’t as popular in the Flagon as the mead was, but Ryndoril could hardly stand the taste of Nord mead, and Vekel didn’t mind keeping the wine around for him.

“What brings you back around here, kid?” Delvin asked. “Ain’t the same without you around.”

“Ah, you know I’ve got a busy life, old man,” Ryndoril teased. “Not like I can make _my_ home on a barstool.” Delvin laughed heartily.

“Bryn’ll be happy to see you,” Delvin said. “He started wondering if you’d gone clean.”

“Never,” Ryndoril grinned. “Brynjolf around, then?”

“Think he was in the Cistern, last I heard of it,” Delvin said. “Make sure you say hello before you leave.”

“I will,” Ryndoril nodded as Vekel handed him a bottle of wine. “Thanks, Vekel. Listen, I’m looking for someone, and I think I’ve heard his name around here before. Think you could help me?”

“Well, what’s the name?” Vekel asked.

“Esbern,” Ryndoril said. Vekel’s face tensed.

“What do you want with Esbern?” Vekel frowned.

“I need to talk to him,” Ryndoril said. “It’s important.”

“I don’t know,” Vekel said uncertainly. “He doesn’t want to be found.”

“I know he doesn’t,” Ryndoril pleadingly. “But I need to find him before…someone else does. I’m a friend to him, I promise.”

“Hmm,” Vekel said, eyeing Ryndoril. “Well, you’ve proven in the past that you’re trustworthy. I suppose you wouldn’t lie to me.”

“I wouldn’t, Vek, don’t worry,” Ryndoril assured him.

“All right. Aye, he’s around here, in the Ratway,” Vekel said. “Bit mad, but stays locked up. Go talk to Brynjolf; he’ll show you where to find him, but I wouldn’t bet on getting the old man to open the door.”

“Thanks, Vekel,” Ryndoril grinned. “I appreciate it.” He took a swig of the wine, bade them both good-bye, and headed back toward the Cistern where he was told to find Brynjolf.

“The prodigal thief!” Brynjolf laughed as he caught sight of the wood elf. “Was starting to wonder if we’d ever see you again.” 

“How could I leave all this behind forever?” Ryndoril winked, gesturing around at the admittedly drab Cistern. “Hi, Tonilia.”

“Hey, elf,” Tonilia greeted him with a friendly nod.

“So what brought you back?” Brynjolf asked. “Running out of gold?”

“Not even close,” Ryndoril said smugly.

“Aye, and you’ve got it on display,” Brynjolf nodded, gesturing to Ryndoril’s amulet. The Bosmer’s face reddened slightly as he remembered it, tucking it beneath his armor.

“Don’t even think about it, Guild Master,” Ryndoril warned. Brynjolf laughed.

“I wouldn’t steal from you, lad,” Brynjolf assured him. “You know better. So who’s it from?”

“What do you mean?” Ryndoril asked, ears reddening now as well.

“Yeah, like you’d be that possessive over something you stole,” Tonilia snorted. “Some pretty girl gave it to you, didn’t she?”

“Ha!” Brynjolf grinned. “That where you been this whole time, lad? Bedding the ladies of Skyrim?”

“No,” Ryndoril said, a little annoyed by the implication, particularly considering everyone knew he didn’t go for women anyway. “And it’s none of your business. Look, Brynjolf, I came back because I’m looking for a man named Esbern. Vekel said you could show me – “

“Esbern?” Brynjolf asked, surprised. “What do you want with that mad old idiot?”

“I can’t really say,” Ryndoril said; he had no desire to explain this Dragonborn business to the Guild. “I just need to talk to him about something, and I need to find him before anyone else does.”

“Someone else is after him?” Brynjolf asked, and Tonilia looked concerned, too.

“Yes,” Ryndoril nodded. “It’s kind of a long story, but…I just need him before they find him.”

“All right, lad,” Brynjolf said, serious once more. “I know I can trust you. Tonilia, we’ll finish this later, all right?”

“Of course,” Tonilia said, grabbing her bag of fenced goods and heading back toward the Flagon. Ryndoril assumed they’d been working on the books, though he knew Vekel was suspicious of a secret liaison between the two.

“This way,” Brynjolf said, leading Ryndoril into the Ratway. “I don’t think you’re going to have much luck talking to him, but I’ll show you where he is.”

Ryndoril followed Brynjolf through the labyrinthine passages of the Ratway, glad to meet no Thalmor resistance – they clearly didn’t know Esbern was here yet. Brynjolf finally pointed to a door.

“He’s in there, lad,” Brynjolf said. “Good luck.”

“Thanks, Brynjolf,” Ryndoril said. “And hey – don’t mention to anyone that I was asking about him, all right?”

“Lad, what’s going on?” Brynjolf asked seriously.

“I really can’t say,” Ryndoril said, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. But if anyone comes asking about him, just say you have no idea. Make sure the others know, too.” He was sure the Thalmor would hear of Esbern being here sooner or later, and he had no interest in any of his Guild family getting hurt or killed by the elves.

“All right,” Brynjolf sighed, shaking his head. “Well, I hope you find what you need. Shadows guide you.”

“And you,” Ryndoril nodded. “I’ll see you later, Brynjolf.” The red-haired Nord walked off, leaving Ryndoril alone to approach the door. He knocked, feeling a little apprehensive.

“Esbern? Open the door,” he said, his voice calm.

“What?” came a voice from inside, sounding panicked. “No, that’s not me. I’m not Esbern! I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Ryndoril gave the door an amazed look. Perhaps they were all right, and this man was crazy.

“It’s okay,” Ryndoril said. “Delphine sent me.”

“Delphine?” the panicked voice called. “How do you… So you’ve finally found her, and she led you to me.” The voice sounded resigned. “And here I am, caught like a rat in a trap.”

“Esbern, calm down,” Ryndoril said. “Listen, Delphine sent me to find you. We need your help with the dragons.”

“This is just a trick to get me to open the door, isn’t it?” the voice screeched. “I told you to go away!” _Wow_ , Ryndoril thought, shaking his head. And he thought Delphine had been difficult.

“Delphine said to ask you about the thirtieth of Frostfall,” Ryndoril mentioned. There was silence.

“The thirtieth of Frostfall,” the voice said, sounding almost reverent now. The man’s moods appeared to change faster than the weather in Riften. “Indeed. Indeed, I do remember. Delphine really is alive, then?”

“Yes,” Ryndoril said.

“You better come in and tell me everything,” Esbern sighed. “How you found me and what you want with me.”

“I’d love to,” Ryndoril said, “if you’d unlock the door.”

“Right,” Esbern said. “This’ll just take a moment.” A short eternity of clicking locks later, the door finally swung open.

Clearly, even if the Thalmor had found him, they weren’t going to get to him in _there_.

“Come in, come in,” Esbern said quickly, shutting the door as soon as Ryndoril was through it. “But look at you. You’re an elf, too. Are you sure you’re not working for the Thalmor?”

“How would I have gotten Delphine to tell me how to trust you if I were working for the Thalmor?” Ryndoril asked, shaking his head and purposely avoiding the question. He felt a bit guilty about it, but didn’t really have another option.

“Right, right,” Esbern said quickly. “So, Delphine keeps up the fight, even after all these years? I thought she’d have realized it’s hopeless by now. I tried to tell her, years ago.”

“What’s hopeless?” Ryndoril asked, feeling utterly confused by this man’s personality.

“Haven’t you figured it out yet?” Esbern exploded angrily, pacing back and forth with his hands behind his back. “What more needs to happen before you all wake up and see what’s going on?” Ryndoril felt a flicker of annoyance at the man now. “Alduin has returned! Just like the prophecy said! The dragon from the dawn of time, who devours the souls of the dead! No one can escape his hunger, here or in the afterlife! Alduin will devour all things and the world will end. Nothing can stop him! I tried to tell them. They wouldn’t listen. Fools. It’s all come true…all I could do was watch our doom approach.”

“Slow down,” Ryndoril said, feeling overwhelmed by Esbern’s fast-paced outburst. “Alduin – the dragon who’s raising the others?”

“Yes! Yes!” Esbern cried, flinging his hands up in the air hopelessly as he faced Ryndoril. “You see, you know, but you refuse to understand!”

“Excuse me, but I’m not the problem here,” Ryndoril snapped, tired of being scolded. “You aren’t explaining anything, how do you expect me to understand?”

“The end of the world!” Esbern shouted. “How do you not understand the end of the world?”

“The literal end of the world?” Ryndoril asked shaking his head. This man _was_ mad; what had Delphine been thinking?

“Oh, yes, it’s all been foretold,” Esbern said, suddenly calm as he stared eerily at Ryndoril. The elf was feeling quite uncomfortable and wanted to simply leave, tell Delphine he couldn’t find Esbern, and let Ondolemar know the Thalmor were wasting their time hunting a madman. But the man continued anyway. “The end has begun. Alduin has returned. Only a Dragonborn can stop him. But no Dragonborn has been known for centuries. It seems the gods have grown tired of us. They’ve left us to our fate as the playthings of Alduin the World-Eater.”

Well, _that_ got Ryndoril’s attention, at least.

“Esbern, I am the Dragonborn,” Ryndoril said carefully. “I don’t know half of what you’re talking about, but if it’s a Dragonborn you’re looking for, you’ve found him.”

“What? You’re…can it really be true?” Esbern whispered, his eyes so wide Ryndoril wondered if they might fall out. “Dragonborn?” Suddenly he jumped about a foot into the air, whirling around in a kind of chaos. “Then, there is hope!” he cried, surprising Ryndoril once again. “The gods have not abandoned us! We must…we must…” he trailed off, looking bewildered. “We must go. Quickly, now! Take me to Delphine. We have much to discuss!”

“Right,” Ryndoril said, baffled by the man. At least he seemed as though he was going to cooperate now. “Let’s go.”

“Give me…just a moment,” Esbern muttered, running around wildly and rifling through his possessions. “I must gather a few things…” He continued mumbling to himself as he gathered several things, stuffing it all into a pouch before donning a set of mage’s robes. When he was finally ready, the two set off, making their way to Riverwood.

*****

“That’s them!” one Justiciar hissed, pointing at a wood elf and an old Nord man.

“Be quiet,” his comrade hissed. They were a group of three, sent by the Ambassador herself to keep an eye on the wood elf and capture him when the time was right. They’d finally found him, in the company of the Esbern they’d been looking for. “Let me listen to them.”

A little following and listening told the Justiciar patrol that the Bosmer didn’t have any actual information yet, and was apparently anxiously awaiting the moment when he would get it. The old man didn’t seem willing to share anything until they found Delphine – another fine prize the Thalmor sought – and so the pair walked on, not knowing they were being followed by Justiciars.

“We’ll keep an eye on them,” the leader of the patrol whispered to his two companions. “It’s too early to take him just yet, and if we bring back all three of them, imagine how pleased the Ambassador will be.” The other two nodded in agreement.

*****

Delphine was happy to see Esbern – or at least, as happy as Ryndoril had ever seen her get about anything. She led them both into her basement room and then encouraged Esbern to tell them everything. 

The old man rambled on about a place called Sky Haven Temple, and something about Alduin’s Wall. Delphine was just as confused as Ryndoril by the end of it.

“You mean to say you haven’t heard of Alduin’s Wall? Either of you?” Esbern sounded shocked.

“Let’s pretend we haven’t,” Delphine said, sounding impatient now. “What’s Alduin’s Wall, and what does it have to do with stopping the dragons?”

“Alduin’s Wall,” Esbern said, his voice returning to the mystical reverence he’d used back in the Ratway for a moment, “was where the ancient Blades recorded all they knew of Alduin and his return. Part history, part prophecy. Its location has been lost for centuries, but I’ve found it again. Not lost, you see, just forgotten. The Blades archives held so many secrets…I was only able to save a few scraps…”

“So you think Alduin’s Wall will tell us what we need to know?” Ryndoril asked. That sounded rather far-fetched.

“Well, yes, but…there’s no guarantee, of course,” Esbern said anxiously.

“All right,” Delphine said determinedly. “Sky Haven Temple it is, then. I knew you’d have something for us, Esbern.” Ryndoril gave her a bewildered look; this is what she called information?

“So where is Sky Haven Temple?” Ryndoril asked.

“It’s in the Reach,” Esbern said, pointing it out on a map he’d laid out. “Right here, near Karthspire.”

“With the Forsworn,” Ryndoril said. “All right, then.” He had the comforting thought that at least when they were finished, it wouldn’t be that far to get home. 

“Let’s get going,” Esbern said cheerfully. Ryndoril gave him a bemused look.

“Are you kidding?” Ryndoril asked. “It was after dark when we got here. It’s late. We need to _sleep_.”

“He’s right,” Delphine said regretfully. “Look, let’s all get some rest, and we’ll set out early tomorrow.”

“Right,” Esbern nodded, as though he’d completely forgotten about such things as sleep. Ryndoril simply rolled his eyes.

*****

“There!” one of the Justiciars hissed, shaking her companions awake. “They’re leaving. Let’s go!”

“We can’t attack them in Riverwood,” another yawned. “We’ll have the whole town on us.”

“We’re elves,” the other replied. “We can take the Nords.”

“We’re three elves,” the second replied bluntly, “and no, we cannot take an entire town full of Nords. We need to follow them and listen; what if the elf still doesn’t know anything? Elenwen would be angry if we brought him back with no information for her, even if we caught the other two as well.”

“True,” the first one said. “But we need to get moving.” The others agreed, quickly packing up to follow the odd trio.

Once outside Riverwood, the elves managed to catch snatches of conversation. The Bosmer still did not have his answers, but it seemed they were traveling to a place that would allow him to _get_ the answers.

“And then,” one of the Justiciars whispered, “we attack.” The others nodded.

*****

“Alduin’s Wall,” Esbern murmured, staring in awe at the massive carved wall before them. 

They’d made their way past the Forsworn and into the temple, though it had left them all rather worn out. Ryndoril was grateful for Ondolemar’s amulet; the enchantment had saved him from the worst effects of the spells the Forsworn threw at him, allowing him to get through with far less trouble than he would have faced otherwise.

“This is what we’re looking for?” Ryndoril asked anxiously, looking over the wall. What he saw made little sense to him.

“Yes,” Esbern said, his eyes drifting lovingly over every inch. “So well preserved… I’ve never seen a finer example of early second era Akaviri sculptural relief…” Ryndoril just shook his head.

“Esbern,” Delphine said impatiently, “we need information, not a lecture on art history.”

“Yes, yes,” Esbern said as though she was a particularly annoying bee buzzing about his head. “Let’s see what we have…” he walked along the wall, taking it all in. “Look. Here is Alduin!” he pointed. “This panel goes back to the beginning of time, when Alduin and the Dragon Cult ruled over Skyrim. Here, the humans rebel against their dragon overlords – the legendary Dragon War. Alduin’s defeat is the centerpiece of the Wall. You see, here he is falling from the sky. The Nord Tongues – masters of the Voice – are arrayed against him.” 

Ryndoril thought he might fall asleep soon.

“So, does it show how they defeated him?” Delphine broke in. “Isn’t that why we’re here?”

“Patience, my dear,” Esbern said, his eyes not leaving the wall. Ryndoril wasn’t sure the man had blinked since he’d set eyes on it. “The Akaviri were not a straightforward people. Everything is couched in allegory and mythic symbolism. Yes, yes,” he went on, pointing again. “This here, coming from the mouths of the Nord heroes – this is the Akaviri symbol for ‘Shout’. But…there’s no way to know what Shout is meant.”

“You mean they used a Shout to defeat Alduin?” Ryndoril asked skeptically. “That’s all?”

“Hmm?” Esbern said, shaking himself out of apparent reverie. “Oh, yes. Presumably something rather specific to dragons, or even Alduin himself. Remember, this is where they recorded all they knew of Alduin and his return.”

“So we’re looking for a specific Shout, then,” Delphine said, shaking her head. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard of something like this? Something that can knock a dragon from the sky?”

“I wish,” Ryndoril snorted. “Make it easier to kill them, wouldn’t it?”

“So you’re going to have to ask the Greybeards,” Delphine sighed.

“Of course I am,” Ryndoril said, rolling his eyes. “ _I_ will travel to High Hrothgar and _I_ will ask the Greybeards about this Shout because _I_ am the Dragonborn and _you_ will go back to Riverwood and be comfortable.”

“No,” Delphine said, ignoring most of his rant. “I think we’ll stay here. It’s been hidden for centuries; no one knows it’s here. I couldn’t have picked a better spot to lay low.”

“To hide,” Ryndoril corrected. “Whatever you say, Delphine.” He took comfort in knowing he would most certainly be turning her in to the Thalmor. She had done so little for him, except trying to get him to risk his life and being so callously uncaring to him. He couldn’t bring himself to care if they found her – he supported them more than he did her, that much was certain.

“I suggest you get up to High Hrothgar soon,” Delphine said coolly. “Find out all you can.”

“Your hospitality is overwhelming,” Ryndoril said dryly. “Is there another way out of this place, or do I have to go back through all that?”

“I’m sure there’s another door somewhere,” Delphine said. “The ancient Blades wouldn’t have gone through all that every time they entered or left.”

“Then I suppose I’ll show myself out,” Ryndoril said sarcastically. The woman had some nerve. He ignored Esbern, who was still fascinated by the wall, and made his way around the temple, looking for a door. He did finally find one, pushing it open to reveal a night sky. He shut it behind him, walking out and breathing in the night air; it was a bit later than he preferred to travel, but he consoled himself with the prospect of waking Ondolemar up when he got back to Markarth. Relaxing a bit, he made his way back down through the ransacked Forsworn camp, eager to be able to tell Ondolemar everything he’d learned.

“So, did you learn everything you need to know, Dragonborn?” a male voice suddenly asked off to his right. His head snapped around, and he suddenly found he was surrounded by three elves in golden armor, gleaming in the moonlight. He wasn’t usually caught off guard like this; thoughts of his lover clouded his mind far too much these days.

“Uh…yes,” Ryndoril said cautiously, reaching for his bow. “Look, are you guys here for information? Because I’m about to give it all to the Thalmor, if that’s what you’re after.”

“Where are your companions?” another elf asked, female this time.

“Inside,” Ryndoril said, nodding toward the temple. “Take them if you want.” He could care less about the uncaring Blades now.

“We will,” the first elf replied. Ryndoril hadn’t yet readied his bow; he didn’t want to hurt these elves if he didn’t have to, but they were making him nervous.

“But we’re taking you, too,” the third elf said, and before Ryndoril could turn and see him, an arrow had lodged itself in his shoulder. He cried out in pain, sinking to the ground as he felt a burning poison spread through him. 

“Why?” Ryndoril gasped painfully, unable to move his arm to do anything with his bow now, and wishing he’d struck first. “I’m…on your side…”

“Your dear ‘friend’, Ondolemar, told us where to find you,” one elf said, stepping close to him, but just out of arm’s reach. The poison was burning more harshly now, coursing through his blood more quickly than he could have imagined. Part of his mind wondered what kind of poison they’d used – it had to be very strong, to overcome his natural resistance. “He asked for your capture.”

Ryndoril knew that wasn’t true; Ondolemar never would have done such a thing, and he was positive the other elf was worrying about him at that very moment. Clearly, however, these Justiciars knew, or at least suspected, that he had a close relationship with the mer; they were trying to get inside his head.

“Let me go,” Ryndoril breathed, his vision going hazy. “Please…” The elf standing nearby laughed coldly.

“See you in the dungeons, elf,” she sneered, and he saw the flash of a golden mace before all went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :( 
> 
> I'm only posting one today, but I will post two again tomorrow, and I promise all will be okay for those who are worried :D Stick with me!!


	8. Chapter 8

When Ryndoril awoke, it was to the knowledge that he was in chains. His vision was still clouded, but he could tell he was in a damp, dank place that smelled of mildew and blood. A Thalmor dungeon, he realized.

He groaned as he tried to move; his shoulders ached and so did his back. His head was throbbing and he felt a terrible weakness in his bones.

“So, the mighty Dragonborn,” a high-pitched, cold voice interrupted his musings about his condition. He attempted to focus, but everything was so hazy that it made him feel a little sick. “We meet at last.” Ryndoril tried to speak, but his throat was so dry he hardly got out a cough. The voice laughed cruelly. “Forgive me, I should introduce myself. I am Elenwen, First Emissary of the Thalmor in Skyrim.”

 _Dammit_ , Ryndoril thought hazily. He should have known. Oh, gods…surely they hadn’t taken Ondolemar, too. _Please, by the Aedra and Daedra, don’t let them have taken Ondolemar!_

He tried to clear his throat, to attempt to speak, but he couldn’t manage it.

“Don’t worry,” Elenwen said coldly, though she sounded immensely satisfied. “You don’t need to speak yet. After all, we have all the time in the world.” Another chilly laugh. “I’ll just let you get _settled in_ , shall I? Perhaps our esteemed Commander Ondolemar will come by to see you later. He’s so pleased we finally caught you.” Ryndoril felt cold hands at his wrists, and the next moment he collapsed to the ground painfully. Oh, _gods_ , he ached. The cold stone under him led him to the realization that he was nearly naked but for a pair of trousers covering his legs. “You will be locked in this cell until I say otherwise. You will be fed when I see fit, and you are not to ask anything of anyone. If you use your Shout against anyone, you will be killed immediately. There is a bucket in the corner to relieve yourself. Do I make myself clear?”

Ryndoril tried to say yes, but even that was beyond him. His vision was clearing bit by bit, but his dry throat wouldn’t let him speak. A sharp, stinging slap hit his cheek.

“You will answer me when I ask you a question, prisoner,” Elenwen said coldly. “Do I make myself _clear_?” Without any other option, Ryndoril simply nodded his head. It throbbed. “Good.” He heard her boots clicking on the stone floor as she walked away, then a key in a lock as the cell door shut. More footsteps, and then all was quiet.

Ryndoril lay back on the cold, hard floor, realizing he was freezing but unable to get up. He closed his eyes; maybe if he just stayed still a little while longer, he would be able to see properly. His mind went back to assessing his situation.

Elenwen was lying to him, that much he was sure of. Ondolemar _wouldn’t_ be pleased that he was captured. He only hoped she was lying about the elf coming to see him as well; he didn’t want her anywhere near his lover, and if Ondolemar was _around_ to come see him…well, it couldn’t mean anything good for the Commander.

As much as he hurt, as much as everything ached…none of it was as painful as the thought of his lover being captured. He knew, no matter what, he would have to keep Elenwen from knowing how close they were.

He only hoped Ondolemar would have the sense to stay away, because he was sure to hear about this happening. Ryndoril would have to find a way out of this himself, because if the Altmer was put in danger because of him…he couldn’t live with it.

*****

Ryndoril hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep again until he was rudely awoken later by a kick to the ribs. He jerked, sitting up; his vision was thankfully clear now, though his stomach was aching and his throat was drier than ever.

“Wake up, prisoner,” a cold male voice said. He looked up to see Elven armor standing over him, cold yellow eyes staring at him. The elf sneered. “Your rations are on the tray. Eat quickly, elf; the Ambassador wants to see you soon. And don’t go back to sleep.” Ryndoril simply nodded again, glancing over to see a mug of water and a bowl of something that looked rather like vomit. The elf walked out, pointedly locking the cell door behind him again before going up a set of stairs.

Ryndoril took a moment to look around at his surroundings. He was in a cell; wooden walls around him with bars for a door. It wasn’t large. He saw the bucket Elenwen had referred to earlier in the corner, a set of shackles on the wall – that was where he’d been chained, he supposed – and little else.

Out of curiosity, he tried to conjure the small fireball he could sometimes manage, but nothing happened. He wasn’t that surprised; he was sure he’d been poisoned against it. He still ached, though it wasn’t as bad except for the pain in his side where he’d just been kicked. His head still pounded, but it was something he could live with. By the lack of severe pain in his shoulder, he assumed the arrow wound had been healed.

He brought his hand up to his neck, searching hopelessly for the amulet Ondolemar had given him. He had already known it wouldn’t be there, but the confirmation crushed him all the same. It seemed a little silly under the circumstances, but Ryndoril missed the elf. He’d been so eager to get back to Markarth, looking forward to feeling the Altmer’s arms around him again – and now he was stuck in this freezing cell.

He reached for the water, hoping it might help clear his head, but nearly spat it back out; it was bitter, and he knew at once it was poisoned. Grimacing, he swallowed it anyway; they weren’t going to kill him, not yet, and if he didn’t have anything to drink he was never going to be able to think properly. He was sure they made it strong – they most certainly knew that he had a resistance to poison as a Bosmer – and didn’t hold out much hope that he could overcome it. He would find a way to get himself out of here, though, and to warn Ondolemar as well.

He forced down the rest of the water, feeling himself weaken though it did help clear his head. He managed to choke down a few bites of the food as well – he couldn’t tell what it was, and wasn’t sure he wanted to know. When he had to fight to keep it down, though, he set it aside; it wasn’t worth throwing it all back up.

 _Right, then,_ he thought. He was stuck in a Thalmor prison, and more than likely, no one had any idea. Delphine and Esbern were probably dead, or they had fled – either way, they wouldn’t be helping him. He was most likely going to be continually poisoned, but it was either accept it or slowly die of thirst, so he couldn’t do anything about that.

He wondered what, exactly, the Ambassador wanted. She couldn’t do anything with the information he had; he was the only one who could defeat Alduin anyway. Perhaps she’d learned of his relationship with Ondolemar, and was displeased? Maybe they should’ve been more careful in front of the Thalmor’s guards…

 _No_ , he thought firmly. He couldn’t allow himself to think that, because if that was the case, Ondolemar himself would also be in custody – and the thought of it drove him mad. He had to keep his head, because if he didn’t, he’d never get out of there.

For now, it was best to go along with it. Whatever happened, he’d just have to deal with it until he learned more.

He only hoped he would last long enough for it.

He heard a door open somewhere and at least two sets of footsteps coming closer. He struggled to try to get to his feet; perhaps if he at least pretended to be strong, it wouldn’t be so bad. He never got past his knees, though.

“One wrong move, prisoner, and you’ll wish you’d never been born,” Elenwen’s cold voice came into the cell.

“Don’t think I could even make a right move,” Ryndoril said, trying to keep his good humor, at least. If nothing else it gave him a small pleasure to annoy her.

“Hold your tongue,” Elenwen snarled as a large elf in Elven armor opened the gate to his cell. “You do not speak unless I ask you a question.” Ryndoril shut his mouth. The next second he was being wrenched harshly to his feet and dragged toward the wall. He fought back a cry of pain as his arms were pulled above his head and placed into the shackles by the stony-faced elf. It was an awkward position; he couldn’t quite stand up straight, so his knees were oddly bent as he held himself up.

“There you are, Madame Elenwen,” the elf said, backing away. “Do you require anything else?”

“Wait for me by the door, Ferinor,” Elenwen said. The other elf bowed slightly to her and left the cell, and Elenwen herself approached Ryndoril, an amused grin on her face. “Would you look at that. The Dragonborn, everyone’s celebrated hero, at my mercy.” She sounded positively thrilled.

“You have an odd definition of mercy,” Ryndoril said, unable to stop himself. Two stinging slaps on his left cheek made his head ring; the Ambassador was strong.

“You will learn,” she said coolly, not even bothering to repeat her rule. Her treatment of him made him feel defiant; he knew it was the wrong reaction to have, but he couldn’t stop it. He wasn’t stupid enough to think his charm would get him anywhere with her, and without that to use, he fell back on his smart mouth.

She eyed him critically for several silent moments, sizing him up; he did the same to her. She looked rather old for an elf, he thought, but she was certainly no less powerful for it. He hated her robes; they were the same as Ondolemar’s. That didn’t surprise him, of course, as it was the Thalmor uniform, but seeing them on _her_ made him angry. It also gave him a small pang, just remembering his lover; gods, but he wished he could be lying comfortably in bed with him. He didn’t want to be scared, and he was trying not to be, but…well, the rumors he’d heard of the Thalmor dungeons hadn’t been pleasant, and he wasn’t sure how much was truth.

“From what I hear,” Elenwen finally spoke, smirking slightly, “you’re quite familiar with these robes.”

“What are you talking about?” Ryndoril asked defiantly. He would _never_ give Ondolemar up. She narrowed her eyes at him.

“That was not a question,” Elenwen snarled, but didn’t hit him this time. “You know very well what I’m talking about. What is the nature of your relationship with Commander Ondolemar?”

“The Thalmor agent in Markarth?” Ryndoril asked carelessly. “I did him a favor several months back.”

“And yet, rumor has it you have become rather close since then,” Elenwen said coolly. “He has told me much about you.” Ryndoril tried not to roll his eyes; were they never going to give up this charade that Ondolemar was working against him? “So I ask you again. What is the nature of your relationship with him?”

“I hardly know him,” Ryndoril said dismissively. “There is no relationship to speak of.” In the time it took him to blink, Elenwen had cast a bolt of lightning at him. He cried out in surprise, managing to suppress a scream of pain; it burned his blood as though he were on fire from the inside. His body jerked involuntarily against his restraints, and then it was over. His legs had apparently lost the ability to support him, and he sagged against the chains that held him. It hurt; her magic was strong.

“The more you lie to me, the worse you’re going to get,” Elenwen said simply. “Let’s move on, shall we?” He glared at her hatefully, panting out his breath now – the shock spell had harmed him far more than magic ever had before, particularly since he was already weakened. Another sharp slap hit his cheek. “Answer me, prisoner.”

“Like it matters,” Ryndoril spat, starting to feel angrier by the second. “You’re going to do it any – ah!” Another slap to his face, the hardest yet; his skin felt warm from the stinging.

“Do not defy me,” Elenwen said coldly. “You will answer me when I ask you a question. Now. Shall we move on?”

“Fine,” Ryndoril snarled. She smiled cruelly at him.

“That’s better,” she said smoothly. “Now. Do you know how to defeat the dragons?”

“Not exactly,” Ryndoril said. It wasn’t a lie; he didn’t know exactly what he still had to do. Only that he had to be the one to do it.

“And what do you mean by that?” she spat.

“I don’t really know anything, and I was on my way to find out more when I was captured,” Ryndoril said. “I don’t know what else you want from me.”

“I already know you were with the Blades,” Elenwen snapped. “I know they gave you information. Now tell me what it was.”

“The only information I have is that I’m the Dragonborn,” Ryndoril said firmly. He wasn’t going to tell her about Alduin or any of the rest of it, mostly because he wanted to annoy her. After all, the information wouldn’t help her any; she couldn’t do anything with it, and he had a feeling if she knew, she’d make everything worse for him.

“Fine,” she said, narrowing her eyes – she definitely didn’t believe him, but it seemed like she had other things to worry about. “Where did the Blades escape to?”

“What do you mean?” Ryndoril frowned, honestly confused. He had been sure the elves who’d captured him would have taken out Delphine and Esbern as soon as he was knocked out.

“Do not answer my question with a question!” A surge of electricity shot through him for a moment, causing him to groan in pain.

“I thought your patrol killed them,” Ryndoril breathed harshly as soon as he could speak again. “I left them in Sky Haven Temple, and that’s the last I knew.”

“Don’t be insolent!” Elenwen snarled. “Tell me where they were going when they left the temple!”

“They had no plans to leave the temple!” Ryndoril yelled back, though much weaker than he intended. Between whatever poison had been in his water and the lightning she kept hitting him with, he was quite weak indeed. Elenwen looked furious for a moment before she seemed to calm down again, and a slow smile spread across her face.

“All right,” she said serenely. “That will be all for today.” Ryndoril felt quite bewildered at this; he hadn’t even told her anything, and she was stopping? “I will see you again soon, prisoner.” He watched in disbelief as she walked out of the cell, turning to the guard just outside. “Leave him where he is until morning. Lock the gate.”

 _Ah_ , Ryndoril thought, feeling a little worried now. So that was her plan. Keep him chained up until he’ll tell her what she wants to know just to get free.

Well, he decided, he was just going to have to deal with it. After all…it wasn’t that bad. Yet.

*****

Ryndoril was miserable when the guard came in to let him down the next morning. He was desperate to relieve himself, and he ached horribly – it had hurt far more than he expected, and it was not a terribly restful night.

He already found himself wishing for Ondolemar, and immediately hated himself for it; he was stronger than that, and he wasn’t going to break down so easily, whatever the stupid Ambassador did to him.

The guard had left a tray of the same water and odd, bland food in a bowl this morning, so after Ryndoril relieved himself, he gulped down the water once more. He could still taste the poison, but he was too thirsty to care. His stomach growled even as he choked down the disgusting dish of food, but he wasn’t sure how much longer he could manage to eat the stuff without it simply coming back up.

He felt a little sick after that and lay against the wall; at least he wasn’t hanging from the chains anymore. His arms were killing him. He wondered what kind of weakling he was, to be so bothered after so little. This was barely anything compared to what he knew was likely awaiting him – was he really that pathetic?

Given the time in silence, he began to try and think about his options. Clearly, he wasn’t going to be able to break out – there was nothing in his cell that could be used as any sort of lockpick.

There was a possibility of knocking a guard down with his unrelenting force Shout and making a run for it, but frankly, he had no idea where to run to. He was likely to just run into more guards…and with the poison weakening him and no weapons to use, he’d be recaptured at best, and probably killed.

He realized his best option was patience. If he waited long enough, he might hear things; it was how it had worked in the Thieves Guild. Watch your mark, know your target, and you can break in anywhere. It couldn’t be that different with breaking out. He wished now he’d talked to Cynric a little more; then again, even the master escape artist hadn’t likely escaped from a Thalmor prison before.

Well, until he could think of something better, he was going to try to stick to patience. Maybe that would be enough.

*****

He spent two full days in his cell; the door opened twice a day to give him food and water and empty the bucket of waste. He wasn’t locked into the restraints again, and he didn’t see Elenwen. No one spoke to him, and he thought he might soon go mad just from the lack of stimulation.

He had figured out there were forty-eight square stones on the floor of his cell, and sixty-six boards on the walls surrounding him. The wall with the barred door consisted of twenty-four bars, and the ceiling contained sixteen boards. He sometimes heard footsteps on these boards.

The third morning, along with his tray of food, he was given a bucket of water and a rag.

“Wash yourself,” the guard delivering it snapped. “We don’t need the dungeons smelling any more than they already do.” Ryndoril jolted slightly just from hearing the sound of a voice for the first time in days. The guard was gone before he could speak back.

He found it amusing that they would care how clean he was; he knew the high elves in general were very fastidious (it was an odd day where Ondolemar did not bathe, even if he had done nothing but sit at his desk), but as he was a prisoner, he had assumed it wouldn’t matter. He couldn’t deny he was grateful, though; he may not always have the need to be as spotlessly clean as Ondolemar, but he didn’t exactly like laying around in his own filth, either.

On a curious hunch, Ryndoril took a sip of the water from the bucket; it, too, was poisoned. He expected nothing less – they wouldn’t risk him drinking it instead. He settled in to clean himself, though the water was freezing, and left the bucket with his tray by the door before slumping against the wall again, resigning himself to another day of silence.

At least it could be worse.

*****

Elenwen was really enjoying herself now. She had the prisoner she’d wanted so badly, she _knew_ he was lying to her, and as fiery as the Bosmer was acting, she was going to have a wonderful time breaking him. She couldn’t have asked for better circumstances.

He seemed to ignore her taunts about Ondolemar, though she knew the two were close; the Commander’s guards’ confession had confirmed her suspicions about Ondolemar’s feelings, and she was going to have great fun using that against the prisoner.

For now, she was letting him stew; letting him think on everything. Sometimes, she knew, the waiting itself was what drove people to madness. She hoped that wasn’t the case with the Bosmer; that would be far too easy, too boring. But it _was_ fun to see what it did to him anyway. 

At least with that interfering Nyslian out of the way, she had little to worry about. The Second Emissary had gone away, saying she meant to visit family in Alinor – as though Elenwen cared what she did. The only other one who would be bothered with her capturing her newly-prized treasure was Ondolemar…and as of yet, he had no idea. She would save that until the opportune moment.

“Madame Ambassador?” Ferinor, her personal guard, said as he came into her office. She looked up, a pleased smile on her face. She enjoyed the subservient mer’s dedication to her, and she was in such a _good_ mood anyway. 

“Yes, Ferinor?”

“The prisoner’s been fed, and I gave him a bucket to wash in,” Ferinor informed her. “All that you asked.”

“Thank you, Ferinor,” she said. “You have done well.” She had little interest in tolerating the smell of unbathed prisoners; the dungeon itself smelled bad enough without adding _unwashed_ stench to it. 

*****

“Place him in the shackles by the desk,” Elenwen’s voice snapped, shaking Ryndoril back into awareness. He hadn’t exactly fallen asleep, but he hadn’t been fully conscious, either. 

“So you came back,” Ryndoril said, his voice croaky from lack of use. “Miss me?” Elenwen gave him a cold smile as the guard came over to take him; he sadly realized that between the poison and not being accustomed to moving, he couldn’t have fought back if he’d wanted to. 

“I always enjoy the fiery ones,” Elenwen commented, watching carefully as the guard placed Ryndoril’s wrists in shackles that he saw were attached to the ceiling. “It’s so much more satisfying when they finally break.”

It was uncomfortable, dangling from the chains; it didn’t hurt, not exactly, but it was certainly unpleasant. Elenwen ordered the guard to fetch her ‘box’ – Ryndoril was sure he didn’t want to know what might be in it.

He wondered if he ought to tell her he was the key to killing the dragons after all; surely she couldn’t keep him locked up if he was the only one who could destroy them. But, he realized, there was no way she would let him go for nothing. He wasn’t sure what she would do…but he knew it wouldn’t be pleasant. And then, he knew, he risked her getting to Ondolemar; that couldn’t be allowed to happen.

He tried to shut the thought of his lover from his mind; he had tried desperately not to think of him, because all it did was cause him to ache, wishing to see his face. He was sure if he allowed himself to think of the other elf too much, he’d slip and say something out loud…and that _could not_ happen.

“Did you have a nice rest?” Elenwen smiled. Everything about her emanated a chill; he could swear it actually felt colder in the dungeon since she’d come down. “Making yourself at home?”

“Your hospitality knows no bounds,” Ryndoril said sarcastically. Her smile simply widened.

“Keep snarking at me, by all means,” Elenwen said smoothly. “You will pay for each and every remark, one way or another.”

“Sorry, I believe you already took all my gold,” Ryndoril bit back, unable to help himself.

“And we’re up to three,” Elenwen said in amusement. 

“What, give up slapping me already?” Ryndoril taunted. He knew better, he knew it was a mistake, and yet he kept doing it. He wanted so badly to provoke her, to wipe that amusement from her ugly face. She laughed, and the cold sound sent a chill down Ryndoril’s spine. She was far too happy about him being so insolent.

“Don’t worry,” Elenwen crooned in amusement. “You won’t miss it for long.” Her guard appeared next to her then, setting down a wooden crate. “Thank you, Ferinor – you may go stand by the door.”

“Yes, Madame,” Ferinor said, giving her a reverent bow before hurrying off. Ryndoril rolled his eyes at the elf.

“Now, then,” Elenwen said, standing and staring at him thoughtfully. “I hope you’re comfortable, because we’re going to be here a while.”

“Going to stare me down until I talk?” Ryndoril snorted.

“Oh, no,” Elenwen said, shaking her head slowly, a slow grin spreading over her face. “Actually…I don’t expect you to say much at all today.” A knot of fear formed in his stomach, much as he tried to suppress it. He’d never really been tortured before, and in all honesty, he wasn’t sure he could hold up very well. It was different from being hurt in battle, where the adrenaline distracted him.

“Give up already?” Ryndoril asked, raising an eyebrow. By the gods, but he sounded weak – was that really _his_ voice that sounded so comical when he tried to be defiant?

“You will give up long before I do, prisoner,” Elenwen said. “But don’t worry. It’s no fun at all to break a prisoner right away. So I shall start slow.” She reached into the box by her and he saw her pull out a long, thin whip, uncoiling it as it flowed through her hands. He gulped, silenced for the moment.

Elenwen walked over to him with the whip in her hand, stopping a foot from him. 

“Rest assured, prisoner,” she said, her voice a deadly whisper, her eyes suddenly harsh. “I _will_ make you scream.”

Ryndoril vowed in that moment that he would not open his mouth again. She would not get the satisfaction.

She stepped back, and a flick of her wrist sent the tail of the whip flying toward his flesh; he jerked in surprise when it hit him, but it didn’t really hurt. It hadn’t been hard enough. It made him nervous, though, because he was sure that wasn’t all there would be. Another soft strike hit him from the other side; he felt the leather slide over his stomach before falling to the ground.

He had to bite his tongue to not cry out on the next strike; clearly, she’d quickly had enough of toying with him, and though he saw the strength with which she hit and braced himself for it, it _hurt_.

“Shut your eyes,” Elenwen commanded. He stared defiantly at her. “Would you rather I blindfold you?” He simply continued to stare at her; he wasn’t going to listen, but he still wasn’t going to open his mouth. She smiled. “All right, then.” He watched as she reached into her box, pulling out a thin strip of cloth. When she was close enough to him, he spat on her. She immediately slapped him hard, but he still felt a sense of satisfaction at having done it. “Do that again and I’ll remove your lips,” Elenwen snarled, tying the blindfold around his eyes. 

His eyes automatically closed as he felt the cloth go around him, but after a moment he opened them back up defiantly – only to cry out in pain and squeeze them shut again. Elenwen laughed.

“Perhaps next time you’ll simply do as I say and shut them,” she taunted.

“What – what the hell?” Ryndoril cried, his eyes streaming with tears from the stinging, though they were still shut tight.

“The cloth is coated in pepper,” Elenwen informed him. “Hurts, doesn’t it?”

Ryndoril was fighting the urge to whimper with pain. Though his eyes were streaming, they still burned fiercely; he’d never felt anything like this before. He wondered if he would go blind. 

While he was focused on the pain from the pepper in his eyes, he didn’t hear Elenwen readying herself again; the blow of the whip came as a shock to him. Without being able to see or brace himself for the strike, it seemed to hurt worse, and he clamped his lips around another cry of pain.

He tried fiercely to simply _breathe_ , to calm himself; this wasn’t…wasn’t _that_ bad, at least. It could still be worse, and he’d be damned if he was going to break down over a little stinging! Just as he thought he might have started to calm himself, another lash struck him; this one wrapped around to his back, and the sting of it left him wondering if she’d broken the skin.

A third strike came, and then a fourth, each harder than the next. On the fifth, his eyes flew open at the shock of pain, quite involuntarily. He cried out again as the pepper freshly stung his burning, swollen eyes. He choked back a sob, and felt shame burning inside of him; was he really so pathetic, so weak, so ridiculous, that he was going to bend under her torment so quickly?

He lost count as she continued to strike him. He was sure he could feel blood dripping down from some of the lashes, and his wrists ached horribly from the strain his writhing body put on them. 

“Stop,” he finally begged brokenly, unable to take anymore. He’d never been in such pain in his life, and he couldn’t stop the heaving sobs escaping his chest. “Please…”

“You,” Elenwen said smoothly, striking him again, “do not get to decide when I stop. I will stop when I am finished and no sooner.” She struck him once more, this time just under his armpit where the skin was more sensitive. He fought not to scream. Somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered how he could even still feel the difference in pain; his head was throbbing from the agony of the pepper in his eyes, his eyes themselves were stinging unbearably, and somehow he could still feel the tail of the whip on his skin.

A moment later, all was silent except for Ryndoril’s choked sobs.

“Ferinor,” Elenwen said calmly, and suddenly Ryndoril felt her untying the blindfold. It fell away a moment later, though Ryndoril realized his eyes were so swollen he could barely see anyway.

“Yes, Madame?” Ferinor said eagerly somewhere nearby. 

“Clean the bleeding wounds and heal them,” Elenwen said. “If this prisoner is to die, it will be by my own hand, not infection. Leave the rest alone.”

“Of course, Madame,” Ferinor said. Ryndoril couldn’t make himself care about any of it; he just wanted the pain to stop.

“I will be back another day,” Elenwen said menacingly to Ryndoril as the elf collapsed into Ferinor when he was let down. He vaguely heard her footsteps retreating as the male elf dragged him across the floor back into his cell.

“Don’t even think of falling asleep,” Ferinor snapped, his tone angrier than Ryndoril usually heard it; typically he was so eagerly subservient to Elenwen that such an emotion seemed beyond him. “I’ll be right back, and I’m not cleaning you.” Ryndoril didn’t respond as he tried to calm his breathing, to rein in his choking sobs. 

He hurt; by the gods, he hurt, and he couldn’t remember hurting like this in his life. His traitorous heart immediately longed for Ondolemar; he knew the other elf would heal him at once and make him feel better.

But he could not have Ondolemar; the Altmer wasn’t there, thank the gods, and with any luck never would be. Thinking of him merely served to make Ryndoril’s heart ache like the rest of him did, and once again he was afraid of letting the name slip if he allowed himself the thought.

Instead he forced himself to think of something else; Valenwood would do nicely, he thought. He didn’t often think of his homeland – he’d gotten rather fond of Skyrim, truth be told, in his time living here. But now it served as the perfect memory; pleasant, comforting, but not overwhelming.

He was just reveling in a memory of a splash-fight with his aunt in the stream by her old house, finally having calmed himself and found something else to focus on, when the door clanged open again.

“Wash yourself,” Ferinor demanded, shoving a bucket at him. Ryndoril listened for it, still unable to see, and finally found it with his grasping hand. The first thing he did was to shove his face into the bucket; anything to get the pepper out of his eyes.

Even the water stung a little when he wrenched his eyes open, but it was also soothingly cold, and soon enough, his eyes didn’t feel like they were going to burn holes in his head anymore. Thus relieved of that particular burden of pain, he pulled his head out of the bucket, gasping for air and wiping his eyes.

Gathering himself as best he could, he reached for the rag that he could make out on the side of the bucket, soaking it and bringing it up to run over the first bleeding wound he could see on his side. He winced as the water stung, but managed to clean it off, moving on to the few others he could see.

Finally, exhausted, he set the rag on the bucket again.

“My back,” he croaked out, getting the guard’s attention. “I think there’s one on my back. Can’t reach it.” Ferinor growled in annoyance, walking toward him.

“You try anything, prisoner, and I’ll make _sure_ you get an infection,” Ferinor warned. Ryndoril couldn’t find it in him to bother replying; he certainly didn’t have the strength to try anything at all. He grunted when Ferinor roughly wiped the sodden rag along the wounds in his back until the blood was presumably gone. 

Eventually, an odd, golden swirl of magic surrounded Ryndoril; he could only just make it out.

“That better be good enough for her,” Ferinor snapped. “I’m not touching you and healing you properly.” Ryndoril wondered what he’d even done, because everything still hurt quite as much as before – it was nothing like Ondolemar’s healing magic.

With that, the guard took the bucket and left the cell, only the ever-present torch light keeping Ryndoril company. 

He realized he was shaking; at least part of it was from the cold, and the water didn’t help any, but he knew part of it was from fear. He hated himself for it; that truly hadn’t been _that_ bad. At least, it could’ve been worse. If he was going to react like a pathetic child now, what would he do when it _got_ worse?

His eyes still stinging and streaming with tears from the pepper, he curled in on himself in the corner of the cell, wishing he had something to cover up with. It was so cold, so very cold.

His mind drifted, unbidden, to the warmth of Ondolemar’s embrace.

“Stop it,” he scolded himself out loud. Thinking of the Altmer would do him no good, and would only lead to the possibility of calling out for him. He wouldn’t allow Elenwen to find out anything to incriminate Ondolemar; he would not allow the elf to be captured like this.

In the brief moments just before truly falling asleep, however, he couldn’t keep Ondolemar’s worried green eyes from flashing across his mind. _Come back to me_ , they said.

 _I’m trying_ , Ryndoril replied desperately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, this was a difficult one to write. Hang in there, though; Ryn can't suffer forever!
> 
> I was really anxious about this particular part, so I'd love to know what you think about it.


	9. Chapter 9

Elenwen was more consistent with him now; for a few days, she came back regularly. He’d been smart enough to keep his eyes shut on his own since that night; he didn’t want to deal with that horrible burning ever again, that much was certain.

She questioned him occasionally – always the same. _Where were the Blades? How could the dragons be defeated? What was his relationship with Ondolemar?_ Twice she even threw in a strange question about which Nord leader he was working for. He didn’t understand that one, but she wasn’t going to explain.

He rarely said anything at all. Once he’d gotten so fed up with her questioning about Ondolemar that he finally lashed out at her, asking if the Commander was working with her, why did she need to ask _him_?

That had certainly provoked her fury; her slaps to his face were child’s play in comparison to the beating she gave him over that one. He was thoroughly bruised from it, and that had been the last day he’d seen her – several days ago.

He was beginning to think she left him alone after losing her temper, perhaps to make sure she was calm again; he realized she didn’t like losing control like that, and became all the more determined to provoke it from her. His ‘patience’ tactic wasn’t working out all that well – he had still managed to learn nothing, and her torment was taking its toll.

That morning, he’d finally not been able to handle the food anymore and thrown it back up in his waste bucket. He’d learned it was called cabbage soup, but knowing the name didn’t make it any more palatable. The sneering guard – not Ferinor, as he seemed to be Elenwen’s personal assistant, but someone else – had told him he wasn’t going to get anything else to eat until that night as usual. 

He had assumed as much, but the horrible hunger made his stomach ache anyway. His water had come up with it, though the poison had apparently had enough time to affect him. He was nearly always hungry; even when he did manage to keep down his food, it wasn’t anywhere near enough. He was starting to be able to feel his ribs through his skin.

Still…it could have been worse.

*****

It seemed Elenwen had either taken pity on Ryndoril or else decided he was going to starve to death if she kept up what she was doing, because after two days of retching his meals back up, he suddenly found himself presented with roast venison for his meals…something he was much more likely to do well with as a Bosmer.

It was cold, tough and overcooked, and it tasted somehow flat, but to Ryndoril it was the most delicious thing he’d ever eaten. Though the poison kept him weak, he no longer felt constantly on the verge of collapse, and his stomach held it down.

He had lost track of the days; he knew he’d been in the dungeon a while, but he lost count of how many times he was awoken by the opening gate. Too many, he knew.

It was much harder to keep from thinking of Ondolemar anymore…his mind typically turned to thoughts of the mer for strength. He still hadn’t answered Elenwen’s questions, though he was on the verge of telling her exactly what needed to be done about the dragons. After all, if he was the only one who could finish this and defeat Alduin…she had to let him go, one way or another, didn’t she?

Then again, the reason he hadn’t said anything yet still held true – he couldn’t let her end up with Ondolemar instead.

Her taunts about the Commander had lessened gradually, and for the last few days had stopped altogether; either she finally believed he didn’t have any connection with the Commander, or she had finally realized it wasn’t going to faze him.

The torment with the whip and lightning spells continued, as did the occasional frustrated beating. Just as he was convinced he was growing used to her attacks, she had found somewhere new to hit him and cause just as much pain as always. He was far more covered in scars than he had been to start. Even such a simple thought as that drove his mind to Ondolemar – the Altmer was always so annoyed when he came home with another mark somewhere on him. He wondered what Ondolemar might say the next time they met.

 _If_ they met again, his brain interrupted dully. He had tried to shake himself away from such morbid thoughts, but the longer time went on and the weaker the poison made him, it was starting to look like he’d never get out of there.

One night left him dreaming about his lover; simply laying in the mer’s arms, curled up on his bed peacefully. He awoke with disappointed tears streaming down his face.

But it could be worse.

*****

“Madame Elenwen, you may want to see this,” Ferinor said, coming into Elenwen’s study late one night. He’d just heard something most interesting from the prisoner’s cell, and as the Ambassador was still up, he decided to inform her.

“What is it, Ferinor?” Elenwen sighed, sounding tired. She’d had a long day; the prisoner was proving uncooperative in the extreme, and it was wearing on her already. She had gotten too used to the ones who broke quickly, she supposed, and deep down feared that perhaps she was losing her touch.

“The prisoner is speaking in his sleep,” Ferinor said. Elenwen got to her feet eagerly at that.

“What has he said?” she asked, immediately heading for the dungeons. Perhaps his unconscious speaking would give them some of the information she wished for without him knowing – oh, wouldn’t that be wonderful! She could continue tormenting him for information she already had, while he had no idea. 

“Ah…a name, Madame,” Ferinor said uncertainly. He’d known the name – he knew all of the Thalmor in Skyrim – but he wasn’t sure if it was going to irritate her.

“Well, what was the name?” Elenwen asked impatiently, opening the door to the dungeons and hurrying down the stairs. She paused, waiting for an answer, and then it came – though not from Ferinor’s lips.

“Ondolemar, I miss you,” a choked voice mumbled from the prisoner’s cell. Elenwen’s face split into a wide grin.

That was _just_ the kind of thing she wanted to hear. She knew now what would surely break him.

*****

Ondolemar was going mad with worry. It had been over a month – a _month_! – since he’d last seen Ryndoril. It was very unlike the Bosmer to be gone for so long.

He tried to tell himself it was nothing, that perhaps Ryndoril required more information than he thought, and he would be back soon. Any day now. _Surely!_ He slid his hand into his robe pocket, trailing his fingers over the smooth dragon scale Ryndoril had given him. It had become something of a habit whenever he particularly missed the Bosmer; the scale never left his reach.

“My lord?” Cyndil said suddenly, interrupting his thoughts.

“What?” Ondolemar snarled, ready to break the guard in two. He hated him, he hated them both, and they wouldn’t leave him alone! Auri-El, how much could he be expected to _take_?

“This just came for you, from the Embassy,” Cyndil said, holding out a rolled up paper. Ondolemar snatched it so hard he nearly tore it in his anger; he wasn’t interested in the Ambassador’s stupid party, not now. Unfurling it, he read it anyway, and felt his stomach sink.

The Ambassador requested his presence at the Embassy the following day. She was vague in the letter, but it was clear she was becoming impatient; he couldn’t give her any information, not with Ryndoril gone, but she was going to demand it. 

Well, he’d just have to find a way to bluff through it. Somehow.

“Pack your things,” he snapped at Cyndil. “I am required at the Embassy and you and Rolain will escort me.”

“Yes, sir,” Cyndil replied, and Ondolemar missed the smirk on the guard’s face.

He hoped that maybe, by some odd twist of fate, Ryndoril might just be waiting for him when he got back. Sitting in Vlindrel Hall, ready to offer him a bottle of spiced wine…yes, he thought, trying to comfort himself with the image. That was _certainly_ what would happen.

*****

“You better get cleaned up today,” Elenwen said, smiling her cold smile as she kicked Ryndoril awake. “We have a very special visitor coming to observe.” Ryndoril grunted with the kick to his stomach, but otherwise didn’t say anything. He knew there was no point asking about it. “I’ve even got a new technique to try today.”

“Asking nicely?” he croaked out before he could stop himself; at least he could still defy her with words. It earned him a slap to the cheek; he wondered how it wasn’t numb yet from all the times she’d done that. He did realize it was rather odd that she had come in to wake him herself.

“Our guest won’t like you being mouthy,” Elenwen said, pinching his ear for good measure. He yelped – it was something she’d only started recently, but she folded the sensitive tip between her fingers and squeezed and it _hurt_. “Get cleaned up properly. Our guest is anxious to see us question you.” Ryndoril rolled his eyes. The last time she’d brought in a ‘guest’ it had been the Third Emissary, who was eager to watch her work. She’d started bringing him daily, instructing him on the use of the whip. Ryndoril wondered if it would be the Second Emissary this time, perhaps.

He didn’t really care about cleaning up for anyone else, but it had been a few days since he was allowed to wash himself, so he set to the task as she walked out. After cleaning up, he tore into his chunk of cold venison. It was starting to become unpalatable due to sheer repetition, though it seemed Elenwen had started to forget about him occasionally – sometimes he wouldn’t get a meal at all for some time. He wasn’t sure when he’d last eaten, but it had been long enough he was eager for the dull food anyway.

Perhaps this Second Emissary would let something slip at last? He was running out of things to be hopeful about, so he held onto that for now.

At least it could be worse.


	10. Chapter 10

To Ryndoril’s surprise, he was greeted after cleaning up by Rulindil, the Third Emissary, and Elenwen’s guard, Ferinor. Elenwen herself, however, was not there. Perhaps chatting with their _guest_ , he thought snidely as the guard yanked him to his feet.

He struggled a little, having a tiny bit of strength from the food he’d finally been given, but it was, of course, useless. Rulindil took a leaf out of Elenwen’s book and pinched his ear, hard. He cried out, but stopped trying to struggle, and Ferinor helped Rulindil strap him into the torture rack.

“So we’re back to this again,” Ryndoril sighed. The first time he’d been put in the rack, he’d merely been whipped, as was rather usual for Elenwen. The second time, they’d used the pulley system on the rack to stretch him out – far beyond what was comfortable. He had been sure he’d heard something crack.

He still hadn’t screamed.

This would be the third time, and he wasn’t looking forward to it at all. As soon as he was fully restrained, he saw Rulindil coming toward him with a black strip of cloth.

“No!” he yelled, struggling uselessly. He knew it was pointless, but the ball of fear that settled in his stomach didn’t care – he _couldn’t_ do that again! The whipping, the lightning spells, the beatings…those were bad enough. But that pepper…oh, gods. He still hadn’t forgotten.

“As if you have any say,” Rulindil sneered. “Hold still, prisoner, or I’ll shock you.”

“No,” Ryndoril begged pathetically, frantic. “Please, please, no, I’ll shut my eyes, I swear!”

“The Ambassador doesn’t want to take any risks,” Rulindil laughed. Ryndoril clamped his eyes shut, determined not to open them for any reason at all, no matter what happened. Rulindil secured the blindfold around him, rather tighter than Elenwen had done – it actually dug into his head a bit. He couldn’t feel any burning yet and was grateful, but remembered to keep his eyes shut tight.

“I take it I’m not allowed to meet this particular guest, then?” Ryndoril snarled, angry and frightened. He was terrified of the blindfold, rational or not.

“That’s up to the Ambassador,” Ferinor smirked. “We’re just to get you ready and get started.”

“Let me save you the time,” Ryndoril spat. “I still don’t know where the Blades are, and I still can’t tell you how to defeat the dragons.”

“We’ll see what you know, eventually,” Rulindil said smoothly, turning the cranks on the rack. Ryndoril winced in anticipation, though Rulindil stopped short of true pain.

“Being kind today?” Ryndoril asked, his mouth ignoring input from his brain at this point.

“You’re being chatty today,” Rulindil replied in a bored voice. “I’m intrigued.”

“Yeah, well, bit of excitement and all that,” Ryndoril said nonchalantly. He wasn’t sure why, but he had a strange feeling about this ‘guest’ – he had a feeling something was going to happen that day, and he was going to finally be able to get somewhere in his plan to get out of the blasted dungeon. Somehow, the strange, ridiculous hope gave him strength.

“You should be excited,” Ferinor laughed cruelly. Ryndoril heard the elves moving around, but couldn’t quite hear what they were doing. “Our guest has waited some time to be able to see you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, I’m sure,” Ryndoril managed. He was starting to feel nervous again; not being able to see had him quite thrown off, and not understanding what he was hearing made it worse. He suddenly felt a strange warmth coming from the area past his feet. Fire. He almost laughed – was their ‘guest’ so picky that they required it be warm and comfortable down here? Ridiculous.

“And now, the joy of anticipation,” Rulindil commented, almost cheerful. 

“Ah, is that what it’ll be today?” Ryndoril asked. “Waiting and wondering. Well, at least I’ve got warmth and fine company,” he said sarcastically.

“You better start watching that mouth,” Rulindil said, and Ryndoril could hear the frown in his voice. “Elenwen’s not pleased with you, prisoner.” Ryndoril sighed; clearly these two weren’t as easy to provoke as Elenwen, and he started to feel as though he was wasting his breath.

Well, he decided, at least he was warm. It was a little too warm, truth be told; after so long in this freezing dungeon, a roaring fire nearby was starting to make him sweat. But it was warmth nonetheless, and stretched out on the rack though he was, it was almost – almost – comfortable. Perhaps if he was resigned to a day of waiting, he’d simply try to go back to sleep.

“I think this one’s ready, Rulindil,” Ferinor spoke up after a short time. Ryndoril listened hard, curious and still – whatever he tried to pretend – a bit afraid. 

“Good,” Rulindil said, a smile in his voice. “I believe the stomach is as good a place as any to start.” Ryndoril tensed up at that; what were they going to do? Probably the whip again, he thought dully, trying to brace himself for it.

“Ready for the real fun to begin, prisoner?” Ferinor asked, definitely cheerful.

“By all means,” Ryndoril said, trying to keep his voice from shaking so much. He tensed, waiting, wondering, worrying.

Something touched him, but it wasn’t the tail of a whip – it was blunt. It felt strange, and then all of a sudden the pain hit.

Ryndoril screamed.

He was being burned alive, in only the one spot; it was worse than the whip, worse than the lightning, worse than the peppered blindfold. He struggled, he kicked, he screamed, he tried everything to get away – and then it stopped. It still hurt – oh _gods_ , did it still hurt – but the fire wasn’t pressed against his skin anymore.

“Elenwen will be most pleased,” Rulindil said, clearly satisfied. Ryndoril barely made sense of the words; his mind was racing and his heart was pounding in his ears as he panted to breathe. 

“She always knows,” Ferinor sighed admiringly. “Still feeling mouthy, prisoner?”

Ryndoril blinked his eyes, realizing he’d opened them involuntarily while he was being burned, but nothing happened; the burning pain didn’t seep into his eyes. It seemed this blindfold was clean. 

So it could’ve been worse.

“I believe the next one is nearly ready,” Rulindil commented. Ryndoril felt himself trembling, unable to stop it. This was going to be it, he thought. This was going to be what broke him.

“Would you like the honor, Rulindil?” Ferinor asked.

“Give it a moment,” Rulindil said. “Continuous pain is not nearly as effective as intermittently applied pain.” Rulindil looked up at the younger guard, giving him a reassuring smile. “You will learn. Don’t worry.”

“I suppose,” Ferinor sighed.

It was silent but for Ryndoril’s harsh, gasping breaths for a little while longer. Finally Rulindil spoke.

“Hand me the next one,” he ordered Ferinor. Ryndoril’s trembling increased.

“Please, no,” Ryndoril begged, not even thinking about the words. “Please…”

“Don’t worry, prisoner,” Rulindil said smugly. “The Ambassador will be down soon to question you again. I’m sure you’ll tell her what she wants to know now.”

He found it hard to remember what it was _he_ was supposed to know as what he now understood to be a fire poker of some sort – this one bigger than the other – struck along his ribcage. A split second of feeling the pressure before the intense pain…oh gods, if only it would stop, he would tell them anything, tell them anything they wanted to know. He couldn’t stop screaming and this time, once he realized the poker had been pulled away, he felt tears streaming down his cheeks as he choked out harsh sobs. Even crying hurt now, from as much as he’d been beaten and weakened.

 _By the gods, someone save me_ , he begged in his head. _Please_ …

*****

Ondolemar was trying to keep his temper in check. He’d greeted the Ambassador as asked, only to have her prattle on about some new prisoner she’d acquired and wanted to show him. He’d been so sure she was going to question him about the Dragonborn situation, and now he’d made this trek – while he was already on edge – for her to show off to him as she tortured some human? What a waste of time! She was acting very strangely; oddly excited for something so mundane. He couldn’t understand it, but she seemed almost _crazed_.

“Well, I think we’ve all waited long enough,” Elenwen finally laughed coldly, beckoning Ondolemar to follow her. “I can’t wait for you to meet him.” Resisting the urge to set the higher-ranking mer on fire in his impatience, he did as she asked, following her toward the dungeon. His guards had stayed behind in the main hall, as usual when he visited.

“I’m surprised you’ve found someone important enough to bother me with,” Ondolemar managed through gritted teeth. “You’ve never asked me up here for a prisoner before.”

“This one’s special,” Elenwen said, clearly satisfied with herself. “And for that matter,” she added, pausing as she reached the dungeon door, “you’ll want to keep in mind that you are not to interfere with my subjects. He is already being interrogated, and I do have backup.” Ondolemar stared at her, bewildered – her tone had changed from excited to coldly menacing in the blink of an eye.

“I would never presume to interfere with your interrogation, my lady,” Ondolemar said coolly. As if he ever had! He simply wanted to get this over with and return to Markarth. “I will be delighted to watch you work.” She smirked, opening the door and motioning him through. Just as she shut it, a horrific scream echoed off the walls; clearly whatever her prisoner was being put through, it was one of the harsher techniques. He shuddered as the scream chilled his blood; it was a very strange reaction, considering he’d done similar things himself countless times. Perhaps he was going soft.

He followed her down the stairs as the prisoner’s scream cut off. An odd feeling of panic came over him; _why_ was he acting like this? He was a seasoned veteran when it came to the art of interrogation! Why in the world would it suddenly bother him now? Had he simply been away too long?

Elenwen rounded the corner, Ondolemar himself right behind her. The scene in front of him nearly made him faint.

Lying on the torture rack in the middle of the chamber, Rulindil and Ferinor on either side of him, was Ryndoril. Ondolemar had a moment’s pause where he was simply in shock; he couldn’t even move, let alone think what to do.

The elf was blindfolded, and clearly in immense pain. Ondolemar could see they had resorted to the use of fire pokers, and his darling, beautiful elf was covered in injuries. Ryndoril was sobbing in pain, his chest heaving, and Ondolemar could see his ribs.

“Please stop,” the Bosmer’s voice came, croaky and weaker than Ondolemar had ever heard it. That was what finally snapped him into action; rage boiled inside of him, canceling out all rational thought, and he started toward the rack, determined to throttle the elves standing near his lover. Elenwen grabbed him firmly, holding him back, and he snarled at her.

“Remember what I said?” Elenwen said, her voice quiet and dangerous. “You think yourself capable of taking on all three of us at once? Don’t be a fool, Ondolemar.”

He was shaking with rage. He wanted to rip her head from her shoulders.

But she was right. She was a terribly accomplished mage, as was Rulindil; he didn’t know very much about Ferinor, but another person against him wouldn’t help his cause. His mind thankfully working faster than his heart, he realized if he had any chance of saving Ryndoril, he had to _think_. Think of a plan, of something, somehow, whatever it was; he couldn’t simply attack the three elves. He would be killed, and Ryndoril would, too.

He yanked his arm out of her grip, glaring at her, but she simply smiled and walked over to the rack.

“Ah, Madame Ambassador,” Rulindil said pleasantly, looking quite as thrilled as Elenwen. “Your technique, as usual, is proving quite effective. I believe he may be ready to answer your questions.”

“Perhaps,” Elenwen said, her voice horribly amused. She was utterly thrilled to have Ryndoril in her clutches – it was almost maniacal. “What do you think, prisoner? Are you ready to answer my questions?”

“Please,” Ryndoril sobbed. “Anything…” Ondolemar’s heart cracked. He had to _think_! Why was it so impossible to think?

“Hmm, I don’t know,” Elenwen said, turning to Ondolemar. “After all, you still haven’t met our guest yet. Come say hello, Commander.”

 _Commander_. Ryndoril stopped struggling against his bonds then, choked himself to stop from sobbing, and listened hard. No. _No_ , it couldn’t be. It _couldn’t_ be true.

“Perhaps now you would like to finally answer my question about the true nature of your relationship with Commander Ondolemar?” Elenwen prompted Ryndoril, grinning at Ondolemar in an almost deranged sort of way. He couldn’t stop shaking, and he couldn’t _think_!

“I told you I barely know him,” Ryndoril choked out, panicking. Was this a ruse? Was this to try and get him to break? He wouldn’t betray Ondolemar, he couldn’t say anything, especially if the elf really was there with her…

“Now, now, you’re going to make him feel bad,” Elenwen taunted, winking at Ondolemar. He wanted to scream, and he wanted to cry – he hadn’t even had the urge to do such a thing since he was a small child. But Ryndoril…poor Ryndoril, tortured Ryndoril, still apparently determined to protect him. “You wouldn’t want to hurt his feelings by saying he meant nothing to you, would you?”

“Stop it,” Ryndoril growled through his choked tears. “Stop it, you horrible _bitch_. I’m not telling you anything.” Ondolemar felt a fierce pride surging through him with his other emotions, that the elf still had enough defiance to speak to the Ambassador that way. His elf wouldn’t break easily, _that_ was certain!

“Come, Commander,” Elenwen ordered. Ondolemar walked stiffly over to stand next to her, quaking with tension. _Think, dammit_! He tried to order his brain. But all he could think about was his beautiful Bosmer, covered in scars, beaten, tortured…all while he had done _nothing_ …

“You don’t have him!” Ryndoril finally yelled. “Let it go! I still don’t believe you!”

“Would you like to correct him?” Elenwen invited Ondolemar coolly, obviously enjoying this. He couldn’t speak; he couldn’t say anything, his eyes fixed on the angry and desperate elf on the rack. “Fine,” Elenwen snapped. “If you won’t say anything, he’ll just get it again. Ferinor, hand me that – “

“No!” Ondolemar cried before he could stop himself. He knew now that Elenwen knew everything; she knew about their relationship, and she was using it to hurt them both. But as of that moment, there was nothing he could do. “No. It’s…Ryndoril, it’s me.”

 _Ryndoril, it’s me_. The words rang in Ryndoril’s ears for a full five seconds. _She had him. She had gotten Ondolemar._

It could no longer get any worse.

“No!” Ryndoril screamed, thrashing against his bonds in desperation. “No! Don’t hurt him! I’ll tell you anything – anything! Don’t touch him! Let him go!” Ondolemar felt tears pricking his eyes at Ryndoril’s defense of him. He wanted to release him, to pull him into his arms and hold him and tell him everything was okay – wanted it more than he’d ever wanted anything. Elenwen laughed.

“Stop him struggling,” she commanded Ferinor. The elf obediently went to the side of the rack, cranking the pulleys until Ryndoril cried out in agony as he was stretched. Ondolemar couldn’t even speak. He couldn’t stand this, he couldn’t stand it another second, and yet _anything_ he could do would only cause the elf more torment.

“Please let him go,” Ryndoril begged helplessly amidst his tears. “I will do anything…anything you want…you can kill me if you like, but let him _go_.”

“The Commander is here of his own free will, prisoner,” Elenwen said, and she reached up to begin untying his blindfold. Ryndoril blinked in the sudden brightness of the fire-lit dungeon, and finally his tormented eyes landed on Ondolemar.

He realized the Ambassador had been telling the truth about that, at least; Ondolemar was not in chains, he was in his Thalmor robes just as Ryndoril remembered him, and looked perfectly unharmed.

Ondolemar’s eyes locked onto Ryndoril’s. They hadn’t lost all of their fire, though they were quite dimmer than he’d ever seen. He tried to control the tremors running through his body. _Rulindil is right by the fire_ , he reasoned in his head. _Push him in, and you’ll only have the two. Then Ferinor_ …

“Well,” Elenwen said happily, “aren’t you even going to say hello to one another? What a disappointing reunion,” she mocked.

“Go,” Ryndoril begged, his voice breathless. “Please. Go. Don’t let them hurt you.” The ridiculous Bosmer expected Ondolemar to just leave, to leave him there? Impossible. _Grab a poker from the fireplace at the same time, and you’ll be able to get Ferinor before he realizes it,_ Ondolemar continued. _And then there’s Elenwen_ … But the trouble was, Elenwen was standing closer to Ryndoril. As soon as he did any of that, she’d just hurt the Bosmer. Or kill him. 

“Touching as this is, don’t you have answers to get, Madame Ambassador?” Rulindil interrupted, clearly impatient from the lack of torture.

Ondolemar was still staring at Ryndoril, trying to reassure him with his eyes as he considered how to deal with the Ambassador without the Bosmer ending up dead. Ryndoril just continued to look terrified as tears streamed down his cheeks.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” Elenwen sighed. Ondolemar ignored her; he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Ryndoril’s bruised, sunken face.

Too late, he realized what Elenwen was doing; before he could react, before he could do anything at all, Ferinor had pressed another red-hot poker against Ryndoril’s side, and the Bosmer screamed in anguish. Seeing it – seeing Ryndoril trying to thrash against his bonds though he was too stretched to really move, seeing the poker burning his flesh – Ondolemar forgot all about any sort of plan. All he could think of was getting them _away from his elf_.

He lunged at Ferinor and knocked the other elf to the ground, the poker falling away from Ryndoril. A split second later, he was standing on the other side of the torture rack facing the Emissaries and had conjured up the strongest ward he’d ever learned, projecting it around himself and Ryndoril as the other two Thalmor faced him, both shocked.

“Just hold on for me, Ryn,” Ondolemar murmured desperately, placing a hand on the Bosmer’s outstretched arm briefly. “Just stay alive for me.” Ferinor had gotten back to his feet, looking bewildered, and Elenwen was angrily preparing herself for battle. _Auri-El save us both_ , Ondolemar prayed silently before dropping his ward, shooting a bolt of lightning at Ferinor because he was closest, and darting around the torture rack to stand between Ryndoril and the Emissaries. 

“You’ve just made the last mistake of your life,” Elenwen snarled, casting a bolt of lightning at Ondolemar. He brought up a smaller ward to catch it, leaving little damage to himself, and grabbed his mace with the other hand. 

“Try me,” Ondolemar snarled, feeling overwhelmingly protective of the small Bosmer behind him. Elenwen set an ice spike flying at him, but he easily dodged it, and it fell harmlessly to the floor behind him.

And then everyone let loose.

Ferinor seemed a bit baffled on what to do, but grabbed his sword; Ondolemar realized that he likely didn’t know much advanced magic. His own guards weren’t that well-versed in the arcane, so it made sense Elenwen’s wouldn’t be, either. Ondolemar swung the mace at the guard, hitting him hard on the shoulder just as he deflected another lightning bolt from Elenwen.

“Brace yourself!” he cried over his shoulder as Rulindil sent a jet of fire at them; he couldn’t protect them and cast a spell at the same time, and he had to shoot a strong lightning bolt at Ferinor before the young elf got close again. He heard Ryndoril moan in pain as the fire swept through them both; his own robes provided a good bit of protection for him, but there was nothing he could do for Ryndoril. _He would heal him later_. _Focus on the enemy_.

Magic started flying all over the room as the mages continued to fight; Ferinor had been struck at once by Ondolemar’s lightning bolt and Rulindil’s flame spell and hadn’t gotten back up. Elenwen and Rulindil were furiously casting back at him as they dodged his spells; he was sure Ryndoril got hit a few more times judging from the occasional groan from his direction, but Ondolemar was doing his best, and he was keeping the worst of the damage at bay. 

Finally a shock spell penetrated his ward and he cried out in pained surprise; it didn’t last long, however, as his own ice spike hit Elenwen, causing her to stagger. Rulindil tried to come around the side of the torture rack and get behind him, but with a furious roar Ondolemar swung the mace at him, knocking him back several paces.

Ondolemar was panting for breath now, and he could feel his magic dwindling; the shock spells drained his magical energy, which was precisely why Elenwen was using them.

But by the Eight, he was going to fight to his last damn breath before he would let them touch Ryndoril again!

The Emissaries began to back away from him across the room, clearly trying to draw him away, but he wasn’t going to leave Ryndoril’s side; it would be too easy for them to come back around and get at the Bosmer. He continued hurling strong lightning bolts and hunks of ice at them both from where he was instead, having hooked his mace back to his belt. As Rulindil backed around the corner, however, the Third Emissary gave a sharp cry of pain; it distracted Elenwen and she looked over, as did Ondolemar.

An arrow was sticking through Rulindil’s shoulder, and he slumped over to the ground. 

“Nyslian!” Elenwen cried, and a moment later, the Second Emissary came around the corner, slinging her bow across her back and looking livid. “What are you doing?” Ondolemar froze, unsure; the Second Emissary had just aided him, but he wasn’t entirely willing to trust her just yet. He presumed the arrow was poisoned; a shot through the shoulder would not have taken the mer down.

“Elenwen, how could you?” Nyslian shrieked at the Ambassador, incensed. After all they’d talked about! “An elf! The _Dragonborn_! He was our _ally_!”

“What is it to you?” Elenwen snapped. “Don’t tell me _you’re_ in love with him, too!” Ondolemar couldn’t help flushing slightly at that, ridiculous as it was to react that way – it was utterly true. He noticed a movement out of the corner of his eye; Ferinor had managed to get up without him seeing and was now holding a fire poker, eyes focused on Ryndoril.

“No!” Ondolemar snarled, and before he even thought about it his mace was in his hand, crashing down on Ferinor’s skull. He slammed the mace down onto him twice more until the younger elf lay still on the floor, unblinking. Ondolemar growled with rage, turning back to the two female elves, unable to feel anything but anger at those who had hurt the Bosmer.

“Ondolemar, calm down,” Nyslian said, though she was beyond angry herself. “Put your mace away. Enough death has been caused.”

“No, it hasn’t,” Ondolemar snarled, advancing toward them both now the other elves were out of the way. “It will not be enough until her blood covers my hands.” Elenwen looked slightly frightened then, casting a lightning bolt at Ondolemar, but he deflected it with a ward. His magic was nearly nonexistent by now, but he would strangle her with his bare hands if he had to.

“Nyslian, restrain him!” Elenwen called, backing away from both of the other mer. “He’s mad!”

“You’re damn right I’m mad,” Ondolemar growled. Oh, how it pleased him that she didn’t wear any sort of helmet. She was barely protected at all from a blow of his mace in those Thalmor robes. Fury burned hot in his veins; he _would_ kill this mer for what she’d done.

“Ondolemar, stop,” Nyslian pleaded, holding her hands out to both of them. She already felt guilty enough about shooting Rulindil, but there hadn’t been time, and she had already seen the Dragonborn and Ondolemar were both in trouble – she _had_ to help, she knew Elenwen was wrong.

“Nys, stay out of the way,” Ondolemar snarled. “I won’t hesitate to hurt you, too, if you cause him harm.”

Nyslian was eyeing Ondolemar warily; she’d never seen _anyone_ this angry before, and certainly not the Commander. Fury had consumed him; his eyes burned with rage, and she could see he was shaking with the strength of it. His words clicked together with Elenwen’s statement about ‘in love with him, too’ – Ondolemar was in love with the Dragonborn, and he was absolutely going to kill Elenwen, whatever Nyslian said or did.

Well, she thought, she couldn’t _really_ blame him. Elenwen was brutal, and Nyslian was already furious the Ambassador had done this to the _Dragonborn_ of all people! Without ever telling her or getting any kind of approval for doing such a thing to a fellow mer, an ally, a powerful being! Just because she wanted a toy.

“Ondolemar, surrender now, or I will kill you,” Elenwen snarled. Ondolemar could see the Ambassador was afraid, however, and weakening as well; she wasn’t going to last much longer in a fight at all.

“Then we’ll see who dies first,” Ondolemar growled, still advancing on the Ambassador as she backed away. Nyslian came toward them both, and Ondolemar growled at her. “Stay away, Nys. I am going to kill her.”

Nyslian had a bit of a soft spot where Ondolemar was concerned, and was furious at the Ambassador herself. To torture the elf, on the pretense of him being a ‘danger’, when it had never even been implied! Elenwen was clearly out of her mind, the like of a rabid dog. It was no longer in line with the Dominion’s values, and to make things worse, she was attacking another Thalmor agent. She had to be stopped…and clearly, death was the only way it was going to happen.

“Then I will help you,” Nyslian said quietly, her voice heavy. But she knew who she would aid; there was no other option.

The Ambassador gave a gasp of surprise, presumably too shocked to move for a moment at Nyslian’s statement, before Ondolemar spoke up.

“No,” Ondolemar barked. “She is mine.” And with that, he lunged at the Ambassador, his rage echoing off the walls as his mace came into contact with the Ambassador’s face. He cried out in pain as Nyslian watched helplessly when Elenwen shot a bolt of lightning at him.

Ondolemar fought the shock spell with everything he had, forcing his arm up with the mace and driving it once more down onto Elenwen’s head. This time he knocked her down, and the shock spell stopped, though it left him further weakened. He brought the mace down on her again and again, fury powering him even after he fell to his knees with weakness. His rage blinded him; he couldn’t even see what was happening, and he didn’t care.

“Ondolemar,” Nyslian said softly after a few moments, putting a hand on his shoulder. “She’s dead. Stop.” He looked down and saw Nyslian was quite right. He felt a little sick at what he’d done, but he _didn’t_ feel sorry.

“Nys,” Ondolemar said weakly, trembling suddenly. “Nys…I…”

“Go,” Nyslian said gently, helping him to his feet and pushing him toward Ryndoril. “He needs you.” Whatever had been done, there were priorities to be dealt with. Explanations could come later.

“Ryndoril,” Ondolemar murmured. “His name is Ryndoril.” 

“I’ll go find all the healing potions I can,” Nyslian said, wanting to do _something_. “I’ll be right back.” Ondolemar nodded, stumbling over toward the Bosmer. He realized Ryndoril was still stretched out painfully on the rack, had been all this time. Ondolemar fumbled with the pulley system, his mind a bit dazed, glad to see Ryndoril’s eyes were still open though they were clouded with pain. Finally he managed to make it release like it was supposed to, and Ryndoril cried out as the tension let him go.

“I’m sorry,” Ondolemar murmured softly, mechanically reaching to undo the restraints holding the Bosmer. “I’ll fix it. I’m sorry.”

“I know,” Ryndoril said weakly. He was barely conscious anymore; being pulled at like he had been was more painful than he expected, as it was further than they’d pushed him before. Combined with everything else he’d endured…he was sure he was about to pass out.

But none of it mattered. Ondolemar was there, Ondolemar had saved his life, had saved him from this hellish dungeon. He was _there_.

“Ahhhh,” Ryndoril moaned as Ondolemar lifted him off the torture rack. The little Bosmer was so light in his arms; his heart tore into pieces as he considered what Ryndoril had endured.

“It’s all right now,” Ondolemar whispered, sinking to the ground with the Bosmer in his arms. “I’m here now, Ryn. I’ve got you.” Ryndoril wanted to say something; he wanted to thank him, to praise him, to _worship_ him for what he’d done. But he couldn’t get any words out. 

He saw the mer’s face was covered in blood, and hoped it wasn’t his own, but he _seemed_ to be okay. Ondolemar held him gently, tenderly; he’d dreamed of the Altmer’s embrace so often, and now he had it again. The relief at that simple fact was overwhelming.

“Ryn? Stay with me,” Ondolemar breathed, wrapping his arms around him. The Altmer was a little worried at Ryndoril’s silence.

“I will,” Ryndoril managed to choke out. Ondolemar summoned all the magic he could manage, desperate to heal his lover, but the fight with the others had drained him; he barely got any out at all.

“Ryn,” Ondolemar choked, hating himself for not being able to help the Bosmer. “Ryn, I’m sorry…I can’t…”

“’S’okay,” Ryndoril coughed weakly. It didn’t matter. He would be all right now.

“Ryn, I love you,” Ondolemar said, his emotion consuming him as he choked out a sob, cradling the weakened Bosmer. “I love you.” A ghost of Ryndoril’s usual smile crossed his face.

“You do?” Ryndoril breathed.

“I do,” Ondolemar choked, a tear falling from his face onto Ryndoril’s cheek. “I love you so very much.”

“I love you, too,” Ryndoril murmured, closing his eyes and sinking into Ondolemar’s embrace. He still hurt, everything hurt, he could hardly remember _not_ hurting…but with Ondolemar, he knew, it would be okay.

“Here, Ondolemar,” a new voice said, and Ryndoril managed to open his eyes. He saw golden curls surrounding a rather kind elven face; this was the one who’d come in to help Ondolemar. She handed the Altmer a bag.

“Thank you, Nys,” Ondolemar murmured, barely able to let go of Ryndoril, but he managed to go through the sack. As he was pulling out healing potions, Nyslian talked.

“It seems the Third Emissary was already quite weakened,” she informed him, keeping her voice soft; she didn’t want to startle or upset the Dragonborn any more than he already was. She was more affected than she was letting on, but truly, it wasn’t anything she hadn’t seen before, between the war and her job. Having seen what Elenwen had done to others in the past, she felt the Ambassador had deserved what she got. “The poison was just paralytic, but…he’s gone. Your guards are being detained as we speak,” she added. “My own are securing the Embassy, along with the Embassy guards. All is safe now.”

“Thank the gods,” Ondolemar said softly, focusing more on the potions than her words. He uncorked a bottle with shaking hands and tilted Ryndoril’s head back. The Bosmer opened his mouth, swallowing down the potion, and he immediately felt some of the pain dull.

“Nys?” Ryndoril murmured, confirming her name. The kind-faced elf smiled gently at him.

“Nyslian, Second Emissary of the Thalmor,” she said. “Hello, Dragonborn. I had hoped to meet you, though these were not my preferred circumstances.”

“I’d bow, but…” Ryndoril said, his voice trailing off. Ondolemar snorted, and Nyslian laughed in surprise. 

“Hush, Ryn,” Ondolemar said, shaking his head at the still-cheeky elf and feeding him a third potion. “Just rest.” Ryndoril obeyed, even closing his eyes; the potions were helping immensely with the pain, and simply being in Ondolemar’s grasp was so _comforting_ …

“We need to get him to a bed,” Nyslian said quietly. “Your guards told me he’s been down here nearly a month.”

“A month,” Ondolemar choked out. “Ryn…by the gods, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t,” Ryndoril breathed. “Not your fault.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Ondolemar asked, finally tearing his eyes away from the Bosmer in his arms and looking up at Nyslian.

“I didn’t know,” Nyslian confessed. “I only just got back to the Embassy this morning. I was in Alinor. If I’d had any idea she had the Dragonborn down here…”

“Why?” Ryndoril asked, suddenly curious. “Why do you…care?”

“Commander Ondolemar made it clear before that you were our ally,” Nyslian said. “On top of that, you’re an elf, and what’s more – you’re clearly essential to our survival of the dragons. We are only to bring higher-level races down here under the most dire of circumstances...and not because Elenwen wanted a _plaything_.” The thought still disgusted her. Bad enough what the mer had done to the Nord man so long ago, but to a fellow elf…it was unthinkable.

“Where can I take him?” Ondolemar asked, gathering the elf firmly to him and standing up. Nyslian helped steady him.

“You can take Rulindil’s room for now,” Nyslian said, her voice heavy. “He…won’t be using it.”

“I’m not sorry,” Ondolemar said, following Nyslian up the stairs; she had grabbed the sack of potions. Ryndoril groaned as the steps jostled him, and it tore at Ondolemar’s heart. “Sorry, Ryn,” he murmured, trying to be more gentle. Nyslian smiled, shaking her head slightly.

“I know you aren’t sorry,” she sighed, referring to his first statement. “I don’t blame you. They were both out of control anyway; it was part of the reason I went to Alinor. I wanted to try and convince them that we needed new leadership. It…partly worked. They were going to ask Elenwen to return to the Isles, but didn’t promise anything.” If only she’d been able to tell them the Ambassador had imprisoned the Dragonborn.

“Will there be trouble now?” Ondolemar asked, holding the Bosmer more protectively.

“I doubt it,” Nyslian said, shaking her head. “Based on what I told them…and the fact that she was stupid enough to be torturing the _Dragonborn_ …I don’t believe they will be too bothered. Elenwen dismissed the Dragonborn as an old Nord legend, but not all of us are so dense. In any case, you know she only had the position because of her father. She was hardly well-liked.”

“Yes,” Ondolemar nodded; he knew how unpopular Elenwen was, even amongst those to whom she reported. “You will move up to take her place, I presume?”

“Most likely,” Nyslian sighed. “But…now is not the time to talk of politics. Settle the Dragonborn in Rulindil’s room and see that he is made comfortable. Ah, Elsynn,” she added, coming upon another female Altmer in Elven armor. “Go with them, will you? See to it they both have anything they need.”

“Yes, my lady,” the Altmer said, bowing slightly. 

“Thank you, Nys,” Ondolemar said softly. “Thank you for everything.”

“You’re welcome,” Nyslian smiled gently. “Just take care of your Bosmer, all right?” She handed him the sack of remaining potions. Ondolemar nodded – of _course_ he was going to – and headed off toward the Third Emissary’s room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go!! Told you it would be okay ;) MamaBear!Ondolemar to the rescue!
> 
> (And yes, Ondolemar DID finally say "I love you" for the first time. Stubborn-ass elf.)
> 
> What did you think? I got a rather vindictive pleasure out of writing Elenwen's brutal demise (but after what she put Ryn through, can you BLAME me?)


	11. Chapter 11

In the bedroom, Ondolemar set Ryndoril gently on the bed and turned to Elsynn.

“Bring me a pitcher of clean drinking water,” he commanded, “and fill the Third Emissary’s bath. Leave the water warm, not hot. Bring me clean clothes that will fit a Bosmer, and make sure they are of quality.”

“Yes, my lord,” Elsynn nodded. “Would you like something to eat as well?”

“Ryn?” Ondolemar asked, turning to the wood elf. “When did you last eat?”

“This morning,” Ryndoril breathed; the movement of coming all the way up here had hurt immensely, despite Ondolemar’s attempt to be gentle. “But before that…I don’t remember.”

“Bring me a plain chicken stew for him,” Ondolemar said, returning to the guard. “And above all, keep everyone else away from this room.”

“What about the Second – “

“Except Nyslian,” Ondolemar said impatiently, annoyed that that guard would be so stupid as to think he’d keep the Second Emissary away. “But everyone else. Am I clear?”

“Yes, my lord,” Elsynn said. “I’ll return soon.” She left, shutting the door behind her, and Ondolemar immediately sat down beside Ryndoril on the bed, taking the Bosmer’s hand briefly.

“How are you feeling?” he asked softly.

“Hurt,” Ryndoril sighed. “But it’s nothing new.” He felt Ondolemar’s fingers squeeze his own. “Don’t worry. I’m all right now. You’re here.”

“I am,” Ondolemar said, and he released the Bosmer’s hand, reaching for the sack of potions. He tugged off his gloves, tossing them aside. “And I will take care of you.”

“I know,” Ryndoril said trustingly. “They’ve been giving me a poison,” he added, figuring it might help for the Altmer to know.

“I assumed,” Ondolemar nodded, familiar enough with the Ambassador’s operations. “There should be…ah-ha,” he concluded, holding up a small bottle. “An antidote.” He helped Ryndoril swallow it down, and the Bosmer felt a little of his energy come back.

“Thanks,” Ryndoril breathed. “What else do you have in there?”

“Plenty,” he assured the Bosmer. “Don’t worry. I don’t want to overload you all at once with no food or water.”

“Right,” Ryndoril said. He was hoping for a few more of the healing potions, but he knew Ondolemar was right; too much in his system would only cause harm at this point. “Love?” Ondolemar tingled with pleasure at hearing the endearment again after so long apart.

“Yes, my dear Ryn?” Ondolemar asked, stroking his forehead.

“Thank you for saving me,” Ryndoril murmured, gazing at Ondolemar with gratitude. “I missed you.”

“Gods, Ryn,” Ondolemar said, tears coming to his eyes again; this was getting ridiculous. “I missed you, too. I worried for you every day.”

“I lost your amulet,” Ryndoril lamented.

“I’m only sorry it didn’t protect you,” Ondolemar murmured. “I’m so sorry for all of this, Ryn.”

“It isn’t your fault,” Ryndoril said. “Don’t blame yourself.”

“It’s difficult not to,” Ondolemar said. “But…you’re right. It won’t help anything.” He sighed, rummaging through the pack again. He was hoping for a potion to replenish his magic; he couldn’t keep stuffing Ryndoril full of healing potions all at once, but if he could only use a little of his magic, he could heal him that way. Unfortunately, all that was left were three healing potions, two regenerating potions, and another bottle of antidote. He’d have to ask the guard about the magic restoring potions.

“Are _you_ all right?” Ryndoril asked, interrupting his thoughts. “Your face is covered in blood.” Ondolemar was a little surprised, reaching up to wipe some of it away, and realized he was right.

“Elenwen’s,” Ondolemar sneered in disgust. “Give me a moment.” He squeezed Ryndoril’s hand and got up, heading over to the washbasin in the corner; it would suffice for this, though he wanted poor Ryndoril to have a real bath. 

He scrubbed away at his face viciously, angry all over again at the thought of her blood marring him; she’d done enough damage, damn it all! Finally, he was relatively sure he was clean, and dried his face with a towel.

“Better?” Ondolemar asked, raising an eyebrow as he returned to Ryndoril, sitting with him again.

“Beautiful,” Ryndoril said with a slight smile. Ondolemar’s cheeks reddened slightly at the compliment. It was so like Ryndoril to say such a thing, no matter the circumstances.

The door opened again just then and the guard came in carrying a pitcher with a mug, a sack dangling from her hip that she tossed on the floor.

“Clothing fresh from the laundry,” she told him, setting down the pitcher and mug as well. “It was Master Rulindil’s, but it’s all there is. The chicken stew is being made right now, and the Third Emissary’s bath is being filled. You can heat it as soon as you’re ready for it. You remember how the enchantment works, I presume?”

“I do,” Ondolemar nodded crisply. Annoying as he tended to find the guards, this one was proving quite efficient, and he appreciated it.

“Anything else, my lord?” Elsynn asked.

“I need magic replenishing potions,” Ondolemar said. “Find me as many as you can. And attempt to locate the Dragonborn’s belongings as well.”

“Yes, my lord,” Elsynn nodded. “I’ll return soon.” She left once more, and Ondolemar helped Ryndoril sit up slightly after pouring a mug full of water. 

It was remarkable how good it tasted, Ryndoril thought; his water all this time had been poisoned, but he hadn’t really realized how different it tasted. Now that he was drinking plain water for the first time in a while, it was delicious.

“Gods, thank you,” Ryndoril said as he pulled back from the mug, trying to catch his breath – he’d downed most of it at once without stopping.

“Better?” Ondolemar asked. Ryndoril nodded. “Would you like more?”

“Not…not yet,” Ryndoril said, feeling a bit shaky from sitting up.

“What else can I do for you, Ryn?” Ondolemar asked, setting the mug down and cradling Ryndoril’s head now. “Tell me how I can help.” He never really took care of anyone, and felt quite helpless.

“You can take those robes off,” Ryndoril smirked, trying to sound cheeky. He hated how weak his voice was. Ondolemar couldn’t suppress a short, amazed laugh. 

“I hardly think it’s an appropriate time,” Ondolemar said. He wasn’t _that_ shocked the Bosmer would say such a thing, but in his current state it was rather strange. 

“Yeah, well, who said I was appropriate?” Ryndoril sighed, amused. “But…they’re not the most welcoming sight right now.” Ondolemar started as he realized what Ryndoril meant; of course he wouldn’t like the sight of the blasted uniform, not now.

“Apologies, Ryn, I didn’t even think of that,” he said, gently setting Ryndoril’s head back on the pillow and standing up. “Of course.” In any case, he’d probably be more comfortable without them for the time being…and looking down, he saw they were quite bloody. He went over to Rulindil’s dresser and pulled out a finely-made tunic and soft trousers, quickly changing.

“Nice view,” Ryndoril commented from the bed, watching him change. Ondolemar rolled his eyes; he was sincerely glad the Bosmer had retained his good humor in the face of all that had happened to him, but _really!_

“You are ridiculous,” Ondolemar said, shaking his head. He went back to sit on the bed again when the door opened once more, Elsynn entering along with Nyslian.

“Well, you look perkier already,” Nyslian smiled at Ryndoril. He smiled weakly back. “I’ve found a sack full of belongings,” she added, setting it down on the floor. “You were the only prisoner I’m aware of, so I’m presuming it’s yours.”

“Thank you so much,” Ryndoril said, incredibly grateful. He hadn’t been sure he’d ever see his things again. He did wonder how she thought he looked any perkier, as he certainly didn’t feel it, but then he realized he wasn’t on the verge of falling unconscious anymore. Perhaps the healing potions and water had done more than he thought.

“You’re welcome,” Nyslian said. “I’ve found every potion in this Embassy, and here’s what we could use,” she added, motioning Elsynn forward. The elf handed Ondolemar the bag she carried. “We mostly had poison, but there were a few magic replenishing potions and a few more restorative draughts. The food will be ready in a little while – you can bathe before you eat.”

“I’m…not sure I could manage it,” Ryndoril confessed, a little annoyed with himself for being weak.

“I will assist you,” Ondolemar said at once. “Don’t worry about it. Yes, Nys, that’s what we’ll do.”

“Thank you, Elsynn, you may go,” Nyslian nodded to her guard, and the female elf bowed and left the room. “How are you feeling, Dragonborn?”

“Just call me Ryndoril,” Ryndoril requested before Ondolemar gave him another potion.

“Ryndoril, then,” Nyslian smiled. “Have the potions helped?”

“Yes,” Ryndoril said after he swallowed, watching Ondolemar downing a few potions himself. “A little.”

“I wish I could do more,” Nyslian said sympathetically. “But I never trained with healing spells, and potions can only cure so much.”

“I know,” Ryndoril said, feeling a little more energized.

“He’s an alchemist,” Ondolemar said, and Ryndoril reddened slightly at the obvious pride in the Altmer’s voice. “He knows potions quite well.”

“Is that right?” Nyslian smiled, interested. “As am I. I would love to talk with you about potion-making sometime.”

“Nys, he needs rest,” Ondolemar frowned. She laughed.

“So protective,” she teased. “I know he does. Another time. You know where the bath is?”

“I remember,” Ondolemar nodded; he’d stayed at the Embassy in the past. He bent down to pick up Ryndoril again, but Ryndoril pushed him away.

“Just…help me,” Ryndoril frowned. “Don’t carry me everywhere.”

“Stubborn elf,” Ondolemar grumbled; he wanted to care for the Bosmer, he wanted to do _everything_ for him. But if he was going to insist… Ondolemar helped Ryndoril to his feet, at which point the Bosmer gasped with pain, almost falling if Ondolemar hadn’t caught him.

“It may be better not to try so hard for a while,” Nyslian spoke up. “The more you rest, the quicker you’ll heal fully.” Ryndoril made a face, knowing she was right but not wanting to admit it.

“Fine,” he said, and found himself in Ondolemar’s arms once more.

“Are you going to be all right, Ondolemar?” Nyslian asked as she followed him out of the room to the bathing room next door. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Just make more potions,” Ondolemar said, and then another thought occurred to him. “And get some spiced wine. It’s made by a woman in Solitude, a Nord woman.”

“Evette San,” Ryndoril spoke up, touched that Ondolemar would think of that. “But it’s not a big deal, don’t bother with that.”

“ _Do_ bother with it,” Ondolemar countered. “He likes it.”

“All right, I will,” Nyslian smiled. “And I’ll do what I can for potions. Let me know if you need anything, all right, Ondolemar?”

“Of course, Nys,” Ondolemar said, trying to show gratitude with his eyes. She smiled softly at him before walking away, leaving the two to the bath. The tub was filled, and the water was perfectly warm. Ondolemar healed the worst of Ryndoril’s injuries as well as he could while helping the Bosmer undress before settling him in the tub.

Ryndoril winced at the water; it stung some of the more minor wounds, and the heat didn’t feel very good on the burns.

“I’m trying, Ryn,” Ondolemar apologized, downing another magic replenishing potion. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Ryndoril said, trying to relax into the water. “Just not used to warm water.”

“I know,” Ondolemar said sympathetically. “I can only do so much for the burns at a time. Has…has she done that before today?” He wasn’t sure he really wanted the answer.

“No,” Ryndoril said. “Today was the first.” Being in the bath hurt a lot less than he imagined it would; clearly between the potions and Ondolemar’s healing touch, all his injuries had healed as though it had been several days, rather than minutes.

“Just try to relax,” Ondolemar soothed, and began cleaning the Bosmer properly, healing him as he went. When the Altmer reached his face, he smoothed the cloth over it, healing the bruises, and then leaned in to kiss him softly on the lips.

“Oh, love,” Ryndoril sighed as Ondolemar broke contact. “Thank you for that.”

“I needed that,” Ondolemar confessed softly, staring into Ryndoril’s brown eyes. He was beyond grateful that they were not dull and lifeless like the prisoners usually looked. With the bruises mostly healed, he looked almost normal again but for the sunken face. That, too, would heal, with potions, food, and time. “At least she didn’t break you.”

“She did,” Ryndoril whispered, staring guiltily at the Altmer. “With you. I would’ve told them anything.”

“What did she even want to know?” Ondolemar asked, trying to ignore the twinge it caused him to think of the Bosmer breaking because of him. “Why did she even capture you?”

“The dragons, of course,” Ryndoril said. “Wanted to know how to get rid of them. And the Blades. And if I was working for the Nords. And wanted to know about us.”

“And you still refused to tell her?” Ondolemar asked. 

“I couldn’t risk her getting you,” Ryndoril said, leaning into Ondolemar’s hand against his cheek. “I couldn’t bear the thought of you being down there like that, too.”

“Ryn, you ridiculous Bosmer,” Ondolemar said, trying to control his voice. That the elf would put him first like that…he didn’t really know what to do with it.

“What would you have done?” Ryndoril asked. “What would you have done to keep me away from her?”

“Anything,” Ondolemar admitted. “Anything at all.”

“Then don’t expect anything less from me,” Ryndoril said with a small smile. He was finally feeling relaxed in the warm water after so much healing magic from Ondolemar and leaned his head back against the tub, closing his eyes. He was grateful the healing potions seemed to have righted his bones after the rack; he didn’t feel like he was going to fall to pieces, though he still _ached_ all over. “I’m afraid I have a few more scars for you to fuss over,” he added to Ondolemar, amusement in his tone. 

“You don’t say,” Ondolemar snorted, shaking his head. “Are you comfortable?”

“Why, want to join me?” Ryndoril asked, opening one eye and looking over at the Altmer. Ondolemar sighed in amusement; clearly, nothing – not even torture – would faze this elf enough to stop him being cheeky.

“If you’re comfortable, I thought I’d just let you rest there for a few minutes,” Ondolemar informed him. 

“Mmm,” Ryndoril smiled softly, closing his eye again. “Yes, I think I’d like that. Long as you’re here.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Ryn,” Ondolemar said seriously. He had absolutely no intention of leaving the Bosmer’s side. He reached into the tub again, though Ryndoril was perfectly clean now, just to grab the elf’s hand. Ryndoril squeezed his fingers – his grip weak – and he squeezed back. “How were you captured? You said she was asking about the Blades…were they not with you?”

“Kind of,” Ryndoril sighed, remembering back to the night he’d been captured. Weak though his voice may be, it was easy enough to keep talking. “We went to this place in the Reach called Sky Haven Temple, because Esbern thought there would be information there. Delphine decided it was a perfect place to hide, and _I_ decided to come tell you. I hadn’t gotten far out of the temple, though, before a bunch of Justiciars surrounded me. Poisoned me, and I fell, and that was that. It seems Delphine and Esbern got away before they could get to them.”

“Where did they go?” Ondolemar asked curiously, and Ryndoril winced; he couldn’t help it, it was the same question Elenwen kept asking.

“I – I don’t know,” Ryndoril said shakily.

“I’m sorry, Ryn, I’m sorry,” Ondolemar said quickly, squeezing his hand again. “I didn’t mean anything by it, you know I didn’t.”

“I know,” Ryndoril said, forcing himself to calm down. “I just…I don’t know where they were going. They intended to stay there at the temple, and if they got away…”

“Would they go back to where you found them?” Ondolemar wondered.

“I doubt it,” Ryndoril said. “They may be cowards, but neither of them is that stupid.”

“Did you learn anything?” Ondolemar wanted to know. “Did Esbern know what you needed?”

“Only a little,” Ryndoril sighed. “I’d rather not get into it at the moment.” The idea of discussing all the Dragonborn stuff just then made his head ache.

“Of course,” Ondolemar said at once. “We’ll talk about it another time.”

“Thanks, love,” Ryndoril said with another faint smile. “I think I’d like to go lie down, if that’s all right.”

“Very well,” Ondolemar nodded, helping the Bosmer up. He retrieved a soft towel and helped Ryndoril dry off, finally wrapping it around his waist. “You seem to be doing better standing up.”

“A little,” Ryndoril said. “The healing spells helped. Thank you.” Though he was clinging hard to Ondolemar, he did manage to make it back to the bedroom without being carried, and felt a bit proud of himself for the feat. After being dragged just about everywhere the last few weeks, it was kind of nice to walk mostly on his own.

Just as the pair had made it into the bedroom, Elsynn came in behind them, carrying a tray with a bowl on it. 

“Here you are, my lord,” she said, setting the tray down on the table. “Is there anything else?”

“That’s all for now,” Ondolemar said. 

“Thank you,” Ryndoril spoke up. The elf looked pleased, if surprised, but then quickly left. “You could be nicer.” Ondolemar simply rolled his eyes and didn’t say anything. The younger elf was meant to serve them at the moment, nothing more, and his mind was far more focused on Ryndoril than any guard.

“I’ll help you get dressed, and then you can eat,” Ondolemar said as Ryndoril sat down on the bed while Ondolemar fetched the clean clothes. It was strange, he thought, to be taking care of someone else like this; even stranger was how little he minded. He _wanted_ to do this.

“Thank the gods,” Ryndoril said eagerly. “I’m starving.”

“You look it,” Ondolemar said, feeling a little sick as he thought once more about how skinny the usually well-toned Bosmer was. “What was she feeding you?”

“Cabbage soup,” Ryndoril said, making a face at just the memory of the stuff.

“To a _wood elf_?” Ondolemar yelped in angry surprise, staring at him. Everyone knew the wood elves were mostly carnivorous, and a prisoner who was starving to death wasn’t going to give any answers! The mer really _had_ lost her mind.

“It didn’t go so well,” Ryndoril agreed. “She finally started giving me overcooked venison instead, but I didn’t get much of it.”

“Disgusting,” Ondolemar snarled, coming over to Ryndoril with the clothes now.

“It’s all right now, though,” Ryndoril reminded him.

“Yes,” Ondolemar said, calming slightly; Ryndoril shouldn’t be the one having to comfort _him_ , after all. He helped Ryndoril get the clothes on, then settled him against a stack of pillows before bringing the tray to him. “Eat slowly, Ryn,” he warned. “You’ll get sick if you don’t.”

“Yes, my lord,” Ryndoril said with a small smirk. Ondolemar managed a smile, which he knew had been Ryndoril’s intent. Ryndoril took a bite and chewed it slowly, letting out a small sigh of pleasure. “This is delicious.” Ondolemar’s heart gave a twinge at that; it wasn’t delicious, it was far from it. It was the plainest thing he thought the Bosmer could put up with. And yet…

“I’m glad you like it,” Ondolemar said anyway, watching the Bosmer eat. He realized just how lucky he was, that Ryndoril was alive, relatively easily healed, and still had his spirit. 

“What?” Ryndoril finally asked, and Ondolemar realized the Bosmer was staring back. He reddened slightly.

“Nothing,” Ondolemar said quickly. “Sorry.”

“Do I look _that_ bad?” Ryndoril asked, clearly teasing. Ondolemar gave a short laugh.

“Of course not,” he said. It wasn’t _exactly_ true; even with the potions, Ondolemar’s magic couldn’t heal all his bruises, and he was still clearly underfed. But to Ondolemar’s eyes, he was quite perfect. “Aren’t you the one who told me your beauty is such you need Dibella’s blessing?” Ryndoril let out a true, long laugh at that, though it seemed to hurt him a little. The sound was music to Ondolemar’s ears.

“I did, didn’t I?” Ryndoril said, still chuckling. Laughing hurt, but oh, it felt so _good_ to laugh like that again. “I haven’t been to see dear Dibella in ages. Want to run to Markarth for me, say hello to Senna?” Ondolemar closed his eyes, shaking his head and letting out a short laugh of disbelief.

“Ryn, you are an idiot,” he said. “And I hate you.”

“I know,” Ryndoril smiled, and Ondolemar was pleased to see his eyes crinkle a bit, though his cheeks were too hollow to make it look like it usually did. “And you’re romantic as ever.”

“Eat your stew, elf,” Ondolemar snorted. 

Ryndoril was pleased; as much as he enjoyed the evidence of Ondolemar’s feelings for him, as much as his heart had soared at hearing those three little words, it was killing him to see the worry in Ondolemar’s eyes. He knew he’d be worried, too, if the roles were reversed, but he wanted the elf to be happy; he didn’t _want_ him to be so worried and upset. 

He wondered if _he_ ought to be more upset. He’d always been a resilient sort of person; after the raid on his house when he was young, he had little choice but to learn to bounce back. But here he was, having just been tortured by the Thalmor – the elves that he was supposed to be on the same side with – for a month. He was weakened, and achy, and it had been hell.

But he couldn’t be miserable. Not with Ondolemar safely by his side again, unhurt – caring for him so deeply. Ondolemar _loved_ him! It was impossible to stay miserable.

As hard as it had been to try not to think of Ondolemar over the last few weeks, it was even harder _now_ to dwell on the pain he’d been through. It was so easy to simply not think about it; especially now, now that he was healed so well, that he was safe, that the person he loved most in the world was sitting right next to him. 

Perhaps he was mad. Perhaps Elenwen’s torments had actually driven him mad.

He _should_ be upset; he should be terrified, he should be a mess. But Elenwen hadn’t broken him into one in the time she’d had him; he sure as hell wasn’t going to let her win now. Not now that he was free.

His spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl and he looked down in surprise; he’d eaten every bit of the chicken stew while he’d been musing.

“Do you want more?” Ondolemar asked, watching him protectively.

“Nah,” Ryndoril said, and Ondolemar took the tray from him at once. “I think that was enough.”

“You should have more water, at least,” Ondolemar said, sitting next to him again. Ryndoril nodded his agreement. Ondolemar helped him drink another mug full of water. 

“Thank you,” Ryndoril said sincerely as he finished, reaching for Ondolemar’s hand and squeezing it gently. “Thank you for caring for me, love.” Ondolemar simply wasn’t the type to go around ‘taking care of’ anyone at all; that he was all too willing to do it for Ryndoril told him a lot.

“Always, Ryn,” Ondolemar murmured back, brushing Ryndoril’s cheek with a finger. There was little else he could do; he couldn’t go back in time to keep it from happening. It was the only way he felt he could even begin to make up for what he’d allowed to happen. “I’ll give you a few more healing potions, and then I think you ought to get some proper sleep.”

“Yeah, probably,” Ryndoril agreed. Just the idea of sleeping on the soft, comfortable bed he was settled on was making him sleepy. Ondolemar helped him drink a few last healing potions, then went over to the elf’s sack of belongings, rummaging around. “What are you looking for?”

“Just a moment,” Ondolemar murmured, searching. He smiled slightly when he finally found the emerald amulet; he was slightly surprised the Ambassador hadn’t kept it for herself. “Here,” he said softly, returning to the bed. Ryndoril saw the amulet and smiled.

“Thank you,” he said feelingly as Ondolemar slipped it gently over his head. “I didn’t think I’d ever see it again.” He reached up to clasp his fingers around it, more grateful than he could say. It had so quickly become important to him.

“Well, I intend to see to it that you are never parted from it again,” Ondolemar assured him around the lump in his throat. Refusing to let it get to him, he proceeded to adjust the Bosmer so he was lying down comfortably on the bed then. Ryndoril sighed contentedly, closing his eyes.

“All right?” Ondolemar asked, stroking the Bosmer’s wet hair.

“Better than all right,” Ryndoril admitted. “This is miles away from cold stone.” Ondolemar’s stomach clenched at the mention of it, though it was hardly a surprise that’s what the elf was used to. It wasn’t as though they gave the prisoners beds.

“Good,” he said. “Just relax, Ryn; you’re safe now, and you can rest.” Ryndoril smiled, opening his eyes slightly to look up at the Altmer.

“Say it again?” he murmured hopefully. Ondolemar was confused for a moment; say that he was safe? Could rest? And then, he realized – he knew exactly what Ryn wanted to hear. It wasn’t something he was planning to make a _habit_ of, but if it was what his dear wood elf needed at the moment…

“I love you, Ryn,” Ondolemar said softly, even leaning over to kiss the Bosmer’s cheek. The wood elf’s smile widened.

“Mmmm,” he sighed, shutting his eyes again and reveling in the words. He tried to relax, but found that he was still a little anxious. “You…you’re going to stay here, right?”

“Of course I am,” Ondolemar reassured him, stroking his arm with the hand that wasn’t already carding through his hair. “I won’t leave you, Ryn. You have my word.” Ryndoril seemed to settle down then, and shortly his breathing evened out, letting Ondolemar know he was sleeping.

Ondolemar sighed, unable to take his eyes from the Bosmer. When he looked at him, when he could see the elf right in front of his eyes, he didn’t have to picture the scene he’d confronted when he followed Elenwen into the dungeon earlier that day. He didn’t have to see it. He didn’t have to hear Ryndoril’s tortured screams. 

And so Ondolemar watched him, right by his side, for gods-knew how long. Eventually a soft knock came on the door, and he managed to tear himself away. It was Nyslian.

“How is he?” Nyslian asked quietly.

“Sleeping,” Ondolemar said, and as he said it he realized he felt quite tired himself. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes,” Nyslian said. “But I need to talk to you, if you don’t mind.”

“No,” Ondolemar said at once. “I promised I wouldn’t leave him.” Nyslian smiled.

“It won’t take long, and if you’ll let me in, we can talk here,” she said. Ondolemar nodded, letting her inside before closing the door. She looked over at Ryndoril on the bed, shaking her head sadly. “I just can’t believe it,” she sighed, taking a seat at the table. 

“Neither can I,” Ondolemar said. “I mean, I’ve done it myself, but…” It was different, now. He knew he’d never be able to do such a thing to anyone again.

“But it’s someone you love,” Nyslian said understandingly. “I know.” She paused, watching how Ondolemar couldn’t stop looking over at the Bosmer. She smiled. “How long have you known him?”

“Hmm?” Ondolemar asked, looking back at her in surprise. He thought it over for a moment. “Well. The better part of a year, I suppose.” He was a little startled to realize it; time had flown since the Bosmer came into his life.

“That long?” Nyslian asked, surprised. “I didn’t even hear about the Dragonborn until a couple of months ago.”

“Neither did he,” Ondolemar said fondly. “He had no idea.”

“So he’s had you helping him all this time,” Nyslian smiled. 

“I tried,” Ondolemar whispered, sounding upset then. “I tried, Nys.”

“I’d say you’ve done a fine job,” Nyslian said. “You can’t blame yourself for this, Ondolemar.”

“I should’ve been with him,” Ondolemar lamented. “I should’ve gone alongside him.”

“You have your own duties,” Nyslian reminded him. “You can’t just ignore them.”

“Well, then, maybe I don’t want to have them anymore,” Ondolemar said, his voice rising slightly before he caught himself. Nyslian stared at him in surprise. “I just mean… _bah_. I have always resented being chained to my desk for paperwork. Now that it resulted in this…it’s so much worse.”

“Would you prefer another position?” Nyslian asked.

“I don’t know,” Ondolemar sighed. “I don’t know what other position I would take. I don’t want to go back to being a simple patroller.”

“Understandable,” Nyslian said thoughtfully. “Well, perhaps we can come up with something else, hmm?”

“You’re being very kind to me, Nys,” Ondolemar said. “And when you have every right to not even speak to me.” Nyslian smiled.

“It wasn’t your fault you didn’t love me,” Nyslian said softly. They’d slept together, years ago, and though Nyslian had been infatuated with Ondolemar, he hadn’t quite returned the feelings. Even so, she still felt a great deal of fondness toward him. “And clearly, there was a reason,” she added, nodding toward Ryndoril. “How could I be angry with you over something you couldn’t control? Especially now, when I can see so clearly how you feel about _him_.” It definitely explained a lot, and she could never begrudge him that.

“You’re very understanding,” Ondolemar said gratefully. He’d always felt a little guilty for not returning the mer’s affections, though she had always assured him she understood.

“I try to be,” Nyslian grinned. “Anyway. That wasn’t why I came in here. Listen, I know your dear elf has been interrogated enough, but I couldn’t learn much from his dossier that Elenwen kept. It seems he refused to tell her anything at all.”

“Did he?” Ondolemar said, looking proudly at his lover. “Good for him.” Nyslian smiled again.

“It seems he held adamant that he barely knew you, too,” she added. “Though he called for you in his sleep not long ago.” Ondolemar’s heart constricted at that, his face twisting into a pained expression.

“I should’ve been there,” Ondolemar said, his voice thick. “I should’ve protected him.”

“You are here now,” Nyslian reminded him, always practical. “Dwelling on anything else will not help anyone.” Ondolemar sighed; he knew she was right, but it was so difficult not to blame himself. “In any case, I need to know what he knows about the dragons.”

“I’m afraid I don’t think it’s very much,” Ondolemar informed her. “He wanted to rest a bit before talking about it, but I got the impression he didn’t have a lot to say. I can tell you what I knew before, but I don’t know how much any of it matters.”

“Does he know how to stop the dragons?” Nyslian asked.

“I’m not sure,” Ondolemar said honestly. “He was supposed to be looking for information with those blasted Blades…protectors of the Dragonborn, indeed,” he snorted angrily. “He didn’t sound like he’d learned much from them, though.”

“Does he know where the Blades went?” Nyslian asked then. “We still need to dispose of them.”

“No,” Ondolemar sighed. “He told me he was captured outside a temple where he’d gone with them, and they had planned to stay there. We can assume they ran off when Ryndoril was taken, but as far as he knew, they meant to stay at the temple. He has no idea where they would have gone.”

“Damn,” Nyslian said, disappointed. “All right, then. Anything else that you know?”

“Only that he _is_ the Dragonborn,” Ondolemar said, a slight smile on his face. “I witnessed his Shout for myself.” Nyslian laughed softly.

“Did you?” she asked. “And you’re still alive?”

“They don’t kill,” Ondolemar said. “At least, not the ones he knows. It seems he can run fast and knock things over. That’s about it.”

“How exciting,” Nyslian snorted. “Though I suppose that explains why he didn’t use it on the Ambassador.”

“Indeed,” Ondolemar said. Neither of those things would have proven very helpful. “Have you gotten any more potions made?”

“Working on them right now,” Nyslian nodded. “I’ll bring them to you as soon as I can. I’m sure your continued healing magic will prove as useful as the potions.”

“I’m going to try,” Ondolemar nodded, barely suppressing a yawn. Nyslian noticed.

“You should get some sleep as well,” Nyslian said. “All that magic you’ve used.”

“Probably,” Ondolemar agreed.

“Would you like the Ambassador’s room while the Dragonborn sleeps here?” Nyslian said, her eyes sparkling with amusement. Ondolemar glared at her for a moment before he realized she was teasing him.

“You’re terrible, Nys,” he said with a short, quiet laugh. “I’m not going to leave him. Not until he’s well.”

“Good,” Nyslian nodded, getting up. She put a comforting hand on Ondolemar’s shoulder. “Let me know what he says, when he’s ready to talk to you.”

“I will,” Ondolemar said, getting to his feet as well. “What will you do about the…the dungeon?”

“The Embassy guards are cleaning up right now,” Nyslian said. “It will be difficult to explain the situation to my superiors in Alinor, but…well. All will be taken care of, in due course. I wish it hadn’t come to what it did, but…” She knew why it had to.

“I couldn’t help myself,” Ondolemar said quietly, remembering the rage he felt as he pounded the mace into the Ambassador’s body. “I just…couldn’t.”

“I know,” Nyslian nodded, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly. “Just get some rest; you’re both all right now.” Ondolemar nodded, walking over to the bed while Nyslian let herself out. He stared a little longer at the Bosmer, and Ryndoril shifted slightly. It moved the covers over him, revealing one of the horrid burn marks – the one on his ribs. He didn’t think the Bosmer had seen it yet.

 _A.D._ He’d been branded as property of the Aldmeri Dominion. The mark would stay there forever; there was nothing Ondolemar could do about it. He had one of his own, of course; every member of the Thalmor was branded as property of the Dominion, though his own was on his hip. Ryndoril had commented on it once, teasing him about it. He wondered if the Bosmer would be so good-humored about having one of his own.

Sighing, he got into the bed behind Ryndoril, gently pulling the Bosmer into his arms; he didn’t want to hurt him, but he needed to be close.

“Rest well, my Ryndoril,” he murmured into the Bosmer’s ear. He could have sworn he heard a pleased sigh escape the Bosmer before he fell asleep.

*****

Ondolemar was awakened some hours later by the thrashing Bosmer, who was whimpering softly in his sleep. The Altmer pulled him close, trying to soothe him.

“Shh, Ryn,” he murmured in the elf’s ear. “Relax. You’re all right now.”

“Stop,” Ryndoril whimpered. “Please, don’t…not again…” Ondolemar’s stomach clenched at the pleading.

“It’s all right, Ryn,” Ondolemar continued soothingly. “You’re just fine, no one’s hurting you. You’re safe, my wood elf.” After a moment, Ryndoril stopped thrashing, his eyes flying open.

“Ahh…” he groaned, realizing he ached horribly. He was immediately calmed a little, however, by Ondolemar’s arms around him. He turned at once, burying his face in the Altmer’s chest as the strong arms encircled him. “Gods,” he breathed, trembling.

“It’s all right,” Ondolemar continued to soothe him, gently rubbing his back. His heart ached at the way the shaking Bosmer clung to him. “Everything’s all right.”

Ryndoril tried to stop the shaking, tried to calm down and reassure himself that he was safe here with Ondolemar, and not down in the dungeon being tortured with lightning, the burning coursing through his body as he writhed in agony. He was _safe_.

“Thank you,” Ryndoril whispered to the other elf, breathing the words into his tunic. He was grateful for the way Ondolemar seemed to surround him as he held him this way.

“Anytime, Ryn,” Ondolemar murmured. “Do you want to talk about it?” He knew it used to help him, sometimes, when he’d have nightmares as a young elf.

“N-no,” Ryndoril replied. He didn’t want to relive it, and more than that wasn’t willing to subject Ondolemar to hearing what had happened. “Just…just hold me.” A lump formed in Ondolemar’s throat, and he quickly swallowed it.

“I will,” he whispered, keeping the small elf tucked into him. “I always will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, isn't that better? (Yes, I am a sucker for hurt/comfort - do you not know that by now?)
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed so far. Only a few more chapters to go, where Ryn heals and Ondolemar deals with the aftermath of what has happened.
> 
> Please feel free to let me know what you think!


	12. Chapter 12

Ryndoril mostly slept for the next few days and nights; when he did awaken, Ondolemar was always there, always next to him, and always looking worried. The Bosmer would try to reassure the other mer that he was feeling much better, just exhausted – he suspected it had a lot to do with the continuous doses of poison he’d been given.

Ondolemar appreciated the reassurances, but still worried over his lover. He regularly gave him healing potions, applying his magic where he could, and continually made sure the Bosmer had enough to eat and drink.

Nyslian, with Ondolemar’s help, had immediately made a few reports to the Dominion in Alinor about what had happened. Ondolemar was a little anxious about what might happen when a reply came, but Nyslian tried to reassure him that they had a perfectly valid case considering Elenwen’s actions. Elenwen hadn’t put much belief into the relevance of the Dragonborn, but Nyslian believed the Nord legends, and it seemed that the leaders in Alinor did, too. The unchecked return of the dragons was in no one’s best interest. Torturing the Dragonborn to death was, realistically, a threat to all of Tamriel – and having attacked a Thalmor agent didn’t do much for Elenwen’s case, either.

“Besides,” Nyslian said to him as they finished up, “you still wouldn’t regret it.” Ondolemar shook his head.

“Never,” he said, feeling possessive of Ryndoril at just remembering.

Nyslian had come to check on Ryndoril’s progress a few times, offering Ondolemar the potions she’d crafted and trying to reassure him. She was worried about the Altmer, herself; it was obvious he wasn’t sleeping well, despite all the rest Ryndoril was getting.

“Ondolemar, you’re not doing him any favors by exhausting yourself,” Nyslian finally said the third night when she’d come in before going to bed herself. “You’ve got to calm down. It’s _good_ that he’s sleeping so much; he’s healing.”

“I know,” Ondolemar sighed, and tried and failed to suppress a yawn. “I can’t help it. When I close my eyes…” He shuddered. When he closed his eyes, all he could see was Ryndoril, bound to the rack in the dungeon, tears streaming down his face…it was one of the worst moments of his life, yet his mind was determined that he relive it again and again.

It didn’t help that Ryndoril had twice woken up with a nightmare since the first night; Ondolemar was always there, always ready to soothe him, but it made his heart ache all the same.

“I understand,” Nyslian said softly, putting a gentle hand on the Altmer’s arm. “I still have those sleeping potions. You should take one.”

“No,” Ondolemar protested again. It didn’t matter how tired he was, or how much it hurt to see what came to him behind his closed eyes. A sleeping potion would keep him from waking up even if Ryndoril needed him, and that wasn’t something he was going to allow. “I’m fine, Nys. I’ll be all right.”

Nyslian sighed, shaking her head. “Stubborn mer,” she said. “If you don’t start taking care of yourself, I’m going to tell him when I see him awake next.” Ondolemar glared at her; it would only cause the Bosmer to worry needlessly, and that was the last thing Ondolemar wanted. “Well, then,” Nyslian said with a smirk, “I suggest you listen to me. I don’t even think you’ve _bathed_ since you’ve been here!”

It was true – he hadn’t, not properly anyway. He hadn’t wanted to leave Ryndoril’s side even long enough to do more than quickly clean up in the washbasin. He didn’t like the feeling that came with not bathing for so long, but it was secondary; all that mattered was being with Ryndoril. What if the Bosmer had a nightmare while he was bathing and not there to wake him?

“I’ll bathe in the morning,” Ondolemar grumbled, his self-consciousness getting the better of him.

“Well, I’m not the one that has to sleep next to you,” Nyslian snorted. “So _I_ don’t really care.” Ondolemar considered this; though Ryndoril himself had not bathed in days, he had also largely been sleeping. Ondolemar would likely be a better bed partner if he were truly clean.

“Well…” he trailed off, thinking. Then he abruptly shook his head. “No. I will not leave him alone.”

“You _must_ love him, if you’re willing to forego a proper bath for so long just to be near him,” Nyslian teased. Ondolemar bristled, about to make an angry retort, but she shook her head and shushed him. “Ondolemar, go. You’re right next door; nothing terrible can befall him. And if it will make you feel better, I shall stay.”

“He barely knows you,” Ondolemar countered.

“Yet _you_ know me,” Nyslian reminded him, “and you know neither of you has anything to fear from me. Go on, Ondolemar.” She could easily see the mer needed it, just that small break.

Ondolemar had to concede that she was right; he knew her, and he trusted her. He would be right next door, and surely she would come fetch him if Ryndoril did indeed have a nightmare. It wasn’t as though he was going all the way back to Markarth or something.

“All right,” Ondolemar nodded tiredly. “You’re right. I will.” Nyslian smiled at him.

“Take your time, and relax,” she said reassuringly. “All will be well. You have my word.”

“Thank you, Nys,” Ondolemar said, fetching a clean set of clothes from the dresser. The Third Emissary had been a little taller than him, and so the clothes fit oddly, but they were good enough for now – it mattered little. His own Thalmor robes had been cleaned and tended on Nyslian’s orders and were as good as new, although he was hesitant to don them in front of Ryndoril again anytime soon.

Ondolemar walked over to the bed, unable to help the sentimentality even with Nyslian standing there, and brushed gentle fingers across Ryndoril’s cheek – a silent promise that he’d be back soon.

“Don’t leave him,” Ondolemar pleaded, his gaze on Nyslian. She smiled reassuringly, sitting down in the chair at the table and grabbing a discarded book.

“I’ll be right here until you return,” she promised.

Ondolemar had his bath readied and warmed in little time, finally relaxing into the hot water. It felt better than he’d thought, and he realized he really had missed having a proper bath, even just for a few days. He shuddered to think of Ryndoril washing from a bucket of freezing water for a month, and then shoved the thought from his mind; he would _not_ think of that, not right now.

Instead he forced himself to focus on his lover’s face, filling back out and looking more normal already no doubt thanks to the healing potions. Beautiful Ryndoril…and that smile. Even now, the smile hardly ever left his face, even if it was generally smaller than it used to be.

With a smile of his own, Ondolemar relaxed into the tub, resting his head on the edge and closing his eyes. _Yes, this was nice…_

*****

Ryndoril’s eyes fluttered open, glad that for once he hadn’t been plagued by unpleasant dreams. He realized he was alone in his bed and sat up to look around a little; Ondolemar wasn’t there, but Nyslian sat at the table.

He’d talked to her a few times since the day she’d helped rescue him, but he still didn’t know her all that well. He felt rather uneasy in Ondolemar’s absence, silly though that was; the female mer was perfectly nice, and even Ondolemar seemed to like her, which told him a lot.

“Ryndoril,” Nyslian smiled, noticing him and looking up from her book. “Hello. How are you feeling?”

“Uh…all right,” Ryndoril said cautiously. “Where’s Ondolemar?” Nyslian grinned wider.

“So alike, the two of you,” she said fondly. “I finally convinced him to tear himself away from you and have a bath. He’s just next door. Shall I get him? It _has_ been a while.” Ryndoril snorted, amused; of course he’d have had to bathe. He should have expected that.

“And here I am, an unbathed mess,” Ryndoril said. “Probably offensive to the very essence of this place.” Nyslian laughed.

“You’ve been injured; you’re excused,” she said.

“Just next door, you said?” Ryndoril asked, contemplating. He’d been doing much better about moving around on his own when he woke, though he was still unsteady and could never go very far. Nyslian eyed him, frowning and clearly guessing what he was thinking.

“You’re not getting up,” she said. “He’d have my head if I let you move.”

“Ah, don’t worry, I know how to handle him,” Ryndoril grinned, still rather tired but too eager to surprise his lover to care at the moment. Nyslian shook her head.

“I just bet you do,” she said wryly. “You know, I’ve never once seen him look at anyone like he looks at you. I believe you’ve stolen the heart of our Commander.” Ryndoril’s smile softened at the thought.

“He stole mine first,” Ryndoril murmured. Nyslian gave a tinkling laugh at that. Ryndoril decided he _did_ like her; she laughed easily, and was an interesting contrast to Ondolemar himself.

“All right, then,” Nyslian said, shaking her head. “I’ll show you where to go. But I fully intend to blame everything on you when he gets angry.”

“Suits me,” Ryndoril said, and he got unsteadily to his feet; Nyslian was almost immediately at his side to help him. She led him to the door of the bathing room, smirking that he was on his own now. He thanked her for her help and opened the door.

Ondolemar was fast asleep, his head lolling out of the bathtub. Ryndoril fought not to laugh.

He slowly made his way over to the tub and started to bend down, wincing as he did so; it seemed magic was slow to heal _some_ injuries, and his ribs still pained him amongst other things. He knelt instead, brushing a few pieces of Ondolemar’s almost-dry hair back from his face, and leaned in to kiss the mer. 

Ondolemar startled awake, splashing water everywhere in his surprise, and Ryndoril laughed.

“Ryn!” he said, his voice almost scolding. “What are you doing? Why are you in here?” Had he actually fallen _asleep_?

“Because you’re in here,” Ryndoril said cheekily. “Oh, and Nys wanted me to be clear that this was all my idea, and she takes no blame.”

“I have no doubts on that,” Ondolemar grumbled. He looked down and noticed his fingers were somewhat shriveled from being in the water so long, and the water was a bit chilly. “Gods. How long was I in here?”

“About an hour, according to Nys,” Ryndoril said. Ondolemar shook his head at himself – _how ridiculous!_ – and started getting out of the tub, letting it drain into the pipe below. Ryndoril watched – a bit too eagerly, Ondolemar thought, for the state the Bosmer was still in – as Ondolemar dried himself off, then dressed.

“How are you?” Ondolemar asked, reaching for the Bosmer’s hand and helping him to his feet. He swayed a little, but the Altmer easily steadied him.

“I’m doing better,” Ryndoril said honestly. “Better every time I wake up.”

“And you’re still in pain,” Ondolemar admonished, clutching the Bosmer more tightly when he stumbled and a hand flew to his ribs. “You shouldn’t have gotten up.”

“You shouldn’t have fallen asleep without me,” Ryndoril teased. Ondolemar simply shook his head, leading the Bosmer back to the bed and helping him settle before performing a quick healing spell on his ribs. He did every little bit he could now and then, but some things simply took time, as frustrated as it made him. As he concentrated, Ryndoril stared at him. “You’re not sleeping,” the Bosmer finally concluded, seeing the dark circles under the mer’s eyes.

“It’s fine,” Ondolemar said smoothly. “I am perfectly fine, Ryn.”

“Love, come here,” Ryndoril said softly, tugging on one of Ondolemar’s hands. The Altmer sighed, moving into bed next to Ryndoril. “What’s the matter?” Ryndoril asked, pulling Ondolemar’s head onto his shoulder – it wasn’t the most comfortable position, but he wanted to hold the mer close.

“Nothing,” Ondolemar bluffed. “I told you, it’s fine. Don’t worry about me, worry about yourself.”

“Love, please,” Ryndoril murmured, pressing his lips to the Altmer’s forehead. He wanted to stroke his hair, but he didn’t really have the energy for it; he really _shouldn’t_ have gotten out of bed and gone down the hall, not just yet. Not that he regretted it, with the look on the mer’s face when he’d awoken. “Tell me what’s the matter. I can see you aren’t sleeping properly.”

Ondolemar sighed again; he didn’t really want to discuss this with the mer, not when he was still recovering and still having his own nightmares about the blasted place. Curled up on the Bosmer’s shoulder as he was, though, he was so comfortable it was hard to deny Ryndoril anything.

“I simply can’t stop picturing finding you down there,” Ondolemar finally murmured, reaching up to grab the Bosmer’s hand. “It was…one of the worst moments of my life. Not knowing if…if I could save you…” he trailed off before he let emotion overwhelm him.

“Love,” Ryndoril murmured, glad the Altmer had grabbed his hand, “it doesn’t matter. You did save me; focus on that. Remember that. And gods…I can’t thank you enough.” He was feeling rather emotional himself at the thought of it again; the odd thud of hope his heart had given when he saw the mer, despite his fears that Elenwen had captured the Commander. The smallest little voice inside him had assured him that no matter why Ondolemar was there, it meant they were together…and if they were together, there was nothing they couldn’t accomplish.

“I know,” Ondolemar murmured, bringing Ryndoril’s fingers up to brush his lips across them. “I just…can’t help it. I…I failed to keep you safe, Ryn.”

“No you didn’t,” Ryndoril said firmly, squeezing the fingers he held. “You didn’t fail in anything. You did everything you could; and you rescued me. You saved me from them…you saved my life, Ondolemar. Whatever else happened…you saved my life. That’s the only part that matters…and now you’re here with me again. Don’t dwell on what happened.”

“How can you expect me not to?” Ondolemar asked hopelessly. “How can _you_ be so unaffected by it?”

“I’m not,” Ryndoril whispered, and Ondolemar caught a note of fear in his voice. “I…” Ryndoril took a deep breath and let it out. “Every time I see Nyslian, in those robes. It scares the hell out of me. Every time I have a nightmare. Every time something pains me, it reminds me, and I can’t…I can’t stop it. But…” His voice was very shaky now. “But I have you. You are here, and you make it all okay. You make me not _have_ to dwell on it. And if…if you’re dwelling on it, too…” Ondolemar felt the elf trembling now, and adjusted their positions so he was holding the Bosmer in his arms tightly.

“Ryn,” Ondolemar murmured soothingly, rubbing the mer’s back. “My dear, sweet Ryn. I’m sorry. You’re right; all that matters is now. And now…you are safe. I will make sure of it. I swear to you.”

“I know you will, love,” Ryndoril said, his tone endlessly trusting as he rested a hand on Ondolemar’s chest. “Just…try to get some sleep, all right? I don’t want this to mess you up, too.”

“I will try,” Ondolemar agreed, kissing the top of the Bosmer’s head. “You sleep as well. You shouldn’t have gotten up, you mad Bosmer. Sleep…and I will keep you safe.”

“Thank you,” Ryndoril murmured faintly. Ondolemar’s reassurance meant everything to him.

Ryndoril hated how it made him feel weak, what had happened; not just physically, but emotionally. He didn’t like feeling broken like he was. He maintained the teasing, playful air as much as he could, but sometimes it simply struck him, everything that had happened, and he couldn’t handle it. He didn’t want to be this trembling mess.

But, he realized, it didn’t seem to matter to Ondolemar, at least. The elf didn’t care; he held him and soothed him all the same, whether he was acting ridiculous or not. And here…like this…lying in the Altmer’s arms…that was when everything felt bearable, like maybe he could get past it all.

“I love you, Ryn,” Ondolemar whispered, his voice almost unheard. Ryndoril smiled.

Yes. With Ondolemar by his side, he _could_ get past it all.


	13. Chapter 13

Over the next several days, Ryndoril improved greatly. With regular food, healing spells, and all the potions he could handle, the Bosmer was feeling much like his old self again. He had even been out and around the Embassy a little, though Ondolemar never let him out of his sight.

One afternoon, a knock came at the door to the room the two mer were still sharing. Ryndoril was lounging in bed, reading a book, while Ondolemar sat propped against the wall with the Bosmer’s feet in his lap, reading as well.

“Yes?” Ondolemar called, glancing up from his book.

“Only me,” Nyslian smiled as she opened the door and came in. “Hello, Ryndoril.” Ryndoril smiled back in greeting.

“What brings you in here?” Ondolemar asked, marking his page and setting his book aside.

“I’ve received a reply from Alinor,” Nyslian said, her voice turning more serious as she held up a few scrolls. Ondolemar tensed, and Ryndoril leaned up to put a calming hand on the Altmer’s arm. Ondolemar had explained to Ryndoril about sending a statement to the Dominion regarding the events, and Ryndoril knew his lover was worried.

“How bad is it?” Ondolemar wanted to know. Nyslian gave him a small smile, though it was easy to see it was forced.

“They have decided they are coming to the Embassy, and have summoned the Dragonborn’s presence for their visit,” Nyslian replied, handing Ondolemar one of the scrolls. “And they request your presence as well as mine.” Ondolemar paled, and Ryndoril was the one who tensed this time.

“They want to see me?” Ryndoril asked hesitantly. “Wh…why?”

“It is nothing to worry about,” Nyslian said kindly. “They will not harm you, Ryndoril. They simply want confirmation of the events that occurred here at the Embassy…and, I think, to see the legendary Dragonborn for themselves.”

“No,” Ondolemar said at once, tossing the scroll of paper aside and fixing Nyslian with a hard gaze as his hand gripped the Bosmer. “He is not meeting with them.”

“Ondolemar,” Nyslian said patiently, “you know a summons like this cannot be refused.”

“What’s wrong?” Ryndoril asked at once, looking between the two Altmer. “Why are you both so worried about this?” Ondolemar was silent, looking away, but Nyslian answered.

“There is nothing to truly worry about,” Nyslian said. “However…I knew that Ondolemar would not be pleased.”

“They’ll do worse than Elenwen,” Ondolemar snarled, getting angry now. “They’ll take him away. I will not allow it.”

“No, they won’t,” Nyslian said calmly. “You know as well as I do that Elenwen was a lunatic to begin with. You know our superiors are not stupid, Ondolemar,” she reminded him. “They understand the power in having the Dragonborn as an ally, and they believe in the truth of the legend where Elenwen did not. They are not going to harm him. If anyone ought to be worried, it’s you; Ryndoril was imprisoned, _he_ committed no crime.”

“A crime it was, and I will commit it a thousand times more if I must,” Ondolemar snapped. He knew there would be a price to pay for what he’d done, self-defense or no, but that price was _not_ going to be his lover.

“Ondolemar, you must calm yourself,” Nyslian said. “No one is threatening Ryndoril. The Ambassador had lost her mind; she proved it by torturing a potential ally. You know this, and they know it in Alinor; she was already going to be asked to step down, but after such a transgression, you can be sure the council is furious. They do not think as she did, and they will not act as she acted. Remember our doctrine.”

“Elven supremacy,” Ondolemar muttered without a thought; it was a simple reaction after all these years.

“And that includes our Bosmer cousins,” Nyslian reminded him. “Ryndoril has nothing to worry about, and after they hear his story, I don’t believe you do, either.”

“What’s going on?” Ryndoril asked, looking desperately at his anxious lover. “What is all this even about?”

“The Dominion leaders in Alinor wish to meet you,” Ondolemar said tersely. “They wish to question you about Elenwen and your imprisonment, and presumably that will decide whether or not I am to be forgiven for murdering her. According to the summons,” he spat, continuing, “they also wish to gain from you a statement that you _will_ be our ally. After _this_!” he finished angrily.

There was silence for a moment following Ondolemar’s angry outburst.

“I don’t believe such a statement will be necessary, once the situation is properly explained,” Nyslian finally broke the silence. “The Dragonborn has more pressing matters to attend to than becoming a proper Thalmor ally. It is something that will eventually need discussed, but for the time being…I don’t believe it to be an issue.”

“Nyslian,” Ondolemar said harshly, “they specifically stated in the summons – “

“I know what it said, Ondolemar,” Nyslian said patiently. “You forget that I am more familiar with those in charge back in Alinor than you. They are sensible, and will listen to reason.”

“Love,” Ryndoril said quietly, squeezing Ondolemar’s hand, “I trust Nys on this. I’m sure she’s right.”

“ _You_ trust Nyslian?” Ondolemar asked incredulously. “Ryndoril, you have known her less than a week – “

“And she helped save my life,” Ryndoril said. Then he cracked a smile. “Besides – even _you_ like her. If that isn’t enough proof she’s trustworthy, nothing is.” Nyslian laughed, and even Ondolemar managed a grudging smile.

“There, now,” Nyslian said teasingly. “Your Bosmer is making sense. You should listen to him.”

“The last time I listened to him, I believe he told me he would be fine and there was _nothing to worry about_ ,” Ondolemar said dryly.

“Well, technically, I was right,” Ryndoril smirked. “I _am_ fine.”

“You are ridiculous,” Ondolemar said, shaking his head though he squeezed the Bosmer’s hand more tightly.

“Yeah,” Ryndoril agreed with a grin. “I am.” Ondolemar sighed, turning to Nyslian.

“When will the Dominion leaders be arriving?” he asked.

“Tomorrow,” Nyslian said. “Apollyon, Eralorn, and Linrael. They left the moment they received my letter.”

“Right, then,” Ondolemar said, shaking his head. “I still don’t like it.”

“It’ll be all right, love,” Ryndoril said. “I can handle them.”

“For that matter,” Nyslian said, her tone businesslike as she addressed Ryndoril, “you should be aware that most of our kind do not think highly of such relation-“

“I know,” Ryndoril interrupted her, grinning. “Ondolemar told me a long time ago. Altmer don’t like males lying with males. I don’t plan on broadcasting it.”

“See?” Nyslian grinned back, now addressing Ondolemar. “I knew he was smart.” Ondolemar snorted.

“Of course he is,” Ondolemar agreed. “But Nys,” he added seriously, “if it comes to it – if they try to harm him in any way – I am not staying out of it. I will not let it happen.”

“I would expect nothing else from you, Commander,” Nyslian smiled. “But I am sure you needn’t worry. All will be fine.”

All three of them were thinking that they sincerely hoped she was right.

*****

Ryndoril got out of the bath later that afternoon, drying himself off. He was pleased that he had strength enough he’d been able to handle the whole thing himself, without Ondolemar’s help.

He still hated feeling weak; he knew it wasn’t going to get better unless he worked at it and got himself back in shape. Ondolemar was being overprotective in the extreme, though, hardly letting Ryndoril move without fussing over him. Not that the Bosmer could blame him. In any case, it was somewhat amusing to see Ondolemar of all people acting like a fussy mother hen.

Ondolemar had gone to talk with Nyslian about preparations for the arrival of the Alinor elves the next day, Ryndoril assuring him that he could bathe perfectly well on his own.

He had managed, but he was finding it a bit harder to be alone than he expected. Physically he was doing rather well, but when he was alone, he had trouble stopping his mind drifting to the dungeon he was still sleeping just above. He’d tried to retain his good humor, tried not to let it get to him, but sometimes it all just threatened to overwhelm him. When he was with Ondolemar, it was easy to suppress. When he was alone, however…

He tried again to pull himself from the morose thoughts, drying off more thoroughly and going to stand in front of the mirror in the room. He was healing, that much was certain; some dark scars remained, but he couldn’t see his ribs anymore. He noticed a slight bend in his nose where there hadn’t been one before; no doubt from one of Elenwen’s furious beatings. A scar on his cheek from when she’d slapped him while wearing her ring. The round burn from the fire poker on the side of his stomach. An odd lash mark here or there that had cut too deeply to heal fully.

As his eyes roved over his form in the mirror, his towel wrapped around his waist, a strange mark he hadn’t noticed caught his attention. He brought his hand up to the side of his ribcage; he’d thought that mark was just another burn scar, but it looked different. He turned, looking at it in the mirror, and stared for a minute.

 _A.D._ He was branded. He was property of the Dominion, whether he liked it or not.

“Ryn?” Ondolemar knocked softly before opening the door. He saw Ryndoril standing by the mirror, a look of shock on his face as his fingers trailed over the Aldmeri Dominion brand on his ribs. Ondolemar’s heart sank; had the Bosmer only just noticed it?

The Altmer quickly shut the door, walking over to Ryndoril and standing behind him. He put a hand on the Bosmer’s shoulder.

“Are you all right?” Ondolemar asked softly.

“We match,” Ryndoril murmured, his voice thick. Gods, no. Not now. _This_ was what was going to overwhelm him? _Now?_

“Indeed,” Ondolemar whispered back, waiting to see how the Bosmer was going to react.

“Guess I don’t have much of a choice in being an ally,” Ryndoril choked, his hands falling to his sides as he continued to stare at the mark.

“Yes, you do,” Ondolemar said firmly, wrapping his arms around the Bosmer’s shoulders. “I don’t give a damn what Elenwen or Rulindil did. That mark means _nothing_ if you don’t want it to.”

“But it does,” Ryndoril sniffled. “It’s there. It’s…on me. No matter what. I…” he started crying now. “I can never get away from it.”

“But it doesn’t matter,” Ondolemar insisted, squeezing the Bosmer tightly. “No one can make you do _anything_ because of it. No one ever even needs to know it exists; they cannot force you to be our ally. I will not let them.”

“I’ll know,” Ryndoril said through his tears. “I’ll know it’s there, and I’ll have to remember everything, every time I see it.” Ondolemar quickly gathered the Bosmer into his arms, leading him from the bathing room to the bedroom next door.

“Do you want to talk about it now?” Ondolemar murmured, holding the Bosmer tightly in his arms on the bed. Perhaps the mer was finally ready to talk, to stop holding it in and pretending everything was all right.

“No,” Ryndoril said stubbornly, clinging to Ondolemar’s tunic. The Altmer could feel him trembling.

“Ryn,” Ondolemar said helplessly. “Please. This is driving you mad. You don’t need to hold onto it by yourself. Stop pretending everything is fine.”

“But then it hurts,” Ryndoril sniffled.

“I know it does,” Ondolemar said, swallowing hard; it hurt him very much to see the elf upset. “But it won’t get any better by pretending.”

“But I _want_ to be fine,” Ryndoril protested. “I want everything to be…fine.”

“But it isn’t,” Ondolemar said gently, squeezing the Bosmer. “And that’s all right.” Ryndoril choked back a sob. “Let it out, Ryn. Please. It’s only me.” The words did it; Ryndoril couldn’t hold back anymore, and found himself sobbing all over the Altmer’s tunic. Ondolemar’s heart broke listening to the Bosmer, so he just held him tighter.

“It was so awful,” Ryndoril choked out. “Terrible…”

“I know,” Ondolemar whispered, soothing the Bosmer as well as he could. Ondolemar stroked his hair, rubbing his back, everything he could think of. Tears stung his own eyes, but he forced them away; Ryndoril needed him to be strong right now.

“Starving,” Ryndoril sobbed. “Freezing. Wanted…you. So much.”

“I’m here now,” Ondolemar reassured the mer. “Right here, Ryn.” He cradled the crying Bosmer for quite some time before Ryndoril started to calm down. When at last he was reduced to a few sniffles, he sat up a little, wiping his eyes. Ondolemar kept his arms around him.

“Sorry,” Ryndoril croaked thickly. “I didn’t…”

“Hush,” Ondolemar said gently, wiping away a few stray tears from the Bosmer’s face himself. “Don’t apologize, Ryn.” He gave the other mer a moment. “Did it help?”

“Yeah,” Ryndoril said, clearing his throat. “Yeah. A bit.” He did feel a bit lighter. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” Ondolemar said. “Anytime you need it, Ryndoril. I’ve told you, I will always be here for you.” Ryndoril managed a small smile at that.

“I love you, Ondolemar,” he said, his smile turning wider as the words came out. “I was starting to think I’d never get to say those words to you.” Ondolemar swallowed hard again, keeping his emotions in check.

“I’m glad you did,” Ondolemar said, stroking a finger along the Bosmer’s cheek. “Are you all right now?”

“I will be,” Ryndoril said with a half-smile. “I’ve got you, haven’t I?”

“You do,” Ondolemar agreed. Ryndoril yawned, surprising himself, and Ondolemar chuckled softly. “Perhaps a bit of rest would do you good.”

“I’ve done nothing _but_ rest,” Ryndoril grumbled. “Is everything settled for tomorrow?”

“It is,” Ondolemar said. “You don’t need to worry about that.”

“I wish you could be with me when they speak to me,” Ryndoril said softly, his nervousness apparent to the Altmer.

“I know,” Ondolemar murmured, taking the Bosmer’s hand and squeezing it. “But you’ll be fine. You trust Nyslian, remember? And I’ll be there after. I promise.” Ryndoril yawned again.

“I think my clean clothes are still in the bathing room,” Ryndoril said, looking around.

“Lie there and relax,” Ondolemar said at once. “I’ll fetch them.” Ryndoril smiled at him.

“Thank you, love,” Ryndoril said, lying back on the bed. He realized he was feeling a _lot_ better now, having let so much out. Clearly, he’d needed it more than he thought he did.

Ondolemar brought clothes to him, handing Ryndoril his daily healing potion once the Bosmer was dressed.

“I’m sick of taking these,” Ryndoril said. “I want to train. I’m tired of wasting away in here.” Ondolemar laughed; he’d suspected as much.

“Well, I believe you seem to be strong enough to handle a _bit_ , yes,” Ondolemar nodded. “Perhaps after Apollyon and the rest are finished with us tomorrow.”

“That would be wonderful,” Ryndoril nodded, yawning again. Ondolemar smiled.

“Rest for now,” he said, making sure the Bosmer was comfortable. “I’ll be right here.” Ryndoril fell asleep with a smile gracing his lips.

*****

An hour later, Nyslian had brought Ondolemar his Thalmor robes, telling him he’d better wear them in case the delegation from Alinor came early. It would never do for them to see him out of his uniform. He grudgingly had to agree; his only reason for not wearing them now was for Ryndoril’s sake, but that would not be an excuse Apollyon would want to hear. In any case, he reasoned, Ryndoril seemed to be doing fine around Nyslian, who hadn’t stopped wearing her own uniform.

He had just finished putting it on, realizing how much he’d missed the familiar worn leather, when he heard Ryndoril whimpering behind him. He frowned, turning to the bed. He’d hoped perhaps the Bosmer would have fewer nightmares after allowing himself the emotional outlet earlier.

“Stop,” Ryndoril pleaded, jerking around on the bed.

“Ryn,” Ondolemar called to him, laying a calming hand on the Bosmer’s shoulder. “Ryndoril, wake up. You’re all right.”

“Take it off,” Ryndoril begged. “Please take it off.” Ondolemar cocked his head curiously; he hadn’t heard that protest before. He wondered what the elf could be dreaming of.

“You’re safe, Ryn,” Ondolemar said, shaking Ryndoril’s shoulder. “Wake up, now. You’re perfectly fine. I promise.” Ryndoril let out another whimper before he twitched and his eyes flicked open.

“No!” Ryndoril shouted hoarsely, jumping and yanking himself away from Ondolemar, his eyes wide with fear and his heart pounding. Ondolemar tried not to be hurt – he couldn’t blame the elf for his reaction, and he should have known better than to don these blasted robes while the Bosmer was still asleep.

“Ryndoril, it’s only me,” Ondolemar said calmly, reaching out to touch the elf gently. He could see Ryndoril shaking.

“I…you…gods,” Ryndoril choked out, his eyes wild. He flinched involuntarily when Ondolemar touched his arm. “S-sorry.”

“Just calm down,” Ondolemar soothed, yanking off his gloves before trying again. Ryndoril didn’t flinch away this time. “I’m sorry, Ryn. I should have waited until you were awake.” Ryndoril was breathing hard, trying to calm down. He looked up at Ondolemar; the Altmer’s worried face helped calm him, reminding him that it was Ondolemar and not Elenwen or Rulindil under those robes.

“It’s…it’s okay,” Ryndoril said shakily, putting his other hand on top of the Altmer’s where it lay on his arm. “I don’t know…sorry. It’s not like that with Nys.”

“Nys hasn’t woken you from a nightmare,” Ondolemar reminded him. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” Ryndoril said, shaking his head vigorously to try and get the bad dream from his head. “I’m…I’m fine.”

“What were you dreaming about?” Ondolemar asked gently, his fingers stroking the Bosmer’s arm. Ryndoril swallowed.

“A…a blindfold,” he murmured. Ondolemar frowned.

“Do you dislike the dark?” he asked. It seemed an odd thing to have upset the Bosmer so much, being blindfolded, in light of everything else he would have gone through.

“No,” Ryndoril breathed, closing his eyes to calm himself. “It…it was coated with pepper. When I opened my eyes…”

“Gods,” Ondolemar said, shocked at this. He’d never heard of that technique; clearly, something Elenwen had come up with herself. How terrible it must have been. “I’m sorry, Ryn.” Ryndoril let out a breath, his lips turning up in a small smile as he opened his eyes.

“You don’t have to keep apologizing,” he said. “You didn’t do it. It wasn’t your fault. I’m…sorry I flinched away from you.”

“And you don’t need to apologize either,” Ondolemar said firmly, squeezing the Bosmer’s hand. “I understand perfectly, and it was my own fault. For that I _do_ sincerely apologize, and I’ll ensure care is taken so I won’t frighten you with these robes again.”

“I’ll get used to them again,” Ryndoril assured him. “That’s…well, that’s what I thought of when I saw Elenwen wearing them. You. It…made me miss you.” Ondolemar didn’t know what to say to that, so he pulled the Bosmer over to kiss him softly. Both were smiling a little as they pulled apart. “What made you put them on again?”

“Nyslian pointed out that I ought to be wearing them tomorrow in case the elves from Alinor come early,” Ondolemar explained. “It wouldn’t do to be seen out of uniform.”

“Ah, right,” Ryndoril nodded. “So what am I supposed to wear tomorrow, then?”

“Your armor has been fully cleaned and repaired,” Ondolemar informed him. “You shall wear it. And…your dagger.”

“My dagger?” Ryndoril asked, surprised. “Won’t that seem…I don’t know…threatening?”

“I discussed it with Nyslian,” Ondolemar said. “And she thinks it will be fine. I didn’t want you alone with any of them unarmed, and she thinks it’s perfectly plausible that the Dragonborn would keep his dagger on him – particularly after being captured.”

“You’re still worried,” Ryndoril said.

“I am,” Ondolemar confessed with a sigh. “Nys thinks I’m being paranoid. But…I can’t help it. I failed to keep you safe once, Ryn…”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Ryndoril said, shaking his head. “Do you really think I need to be worried about them tomorrow?”

“No, I don’t,” Ondolemar admitted. “I am sure Nyslian is correct and they have no wish to harm you. In any case, even if they did, it is very unlikely they would come all the way here and make a spectacle to do so – they would be far more likely to send Dominion scouts after you.”

“Is _that_ likely?” Ryndoril asked anxiously. Ondolemar breathed out a chuckle. How ridiculous he was being.

“No, it isn’t,” Ondolemar said. “I’m sorry, Ryn. I don’t mean to worry you. I simply can’t help but worry _for_ you.”

“You won’t let them take me, will you?” Ryndoril asked softly, feeling ridiculously childish as he did so.

“Never,” Ondolemar said fiercely. “I swear to you, if there is one thing you don’t need to worry about, it’s that. If they even attempt it…I will die before I let them take you, Ryndoril. You have my word.” This made Ryndoril feel a little better; he didn’t particularly want to think of it going quite _that_ far, but all the same, the sentiment was comforting.

“Thanks, love,” Ryndoril murmured. Ondolemar squeezed the Bosmer’s fingers.

“All right, Ryn, I believe we ought to get down to dinner,” Ondolemar said, getting to his feet. “Are you up for it this evening?”

“Yeah, I think I can manage,” Ryndoril nodded, getting to his feet as well. He’d eaten in the dining room with the rest the evening before for the first time, not wanting to be confined to the room, and it had gone well. Steady enough on his own two feet, he slipped on a pair of shoes Nyslian had lent him – for she had smaller feet than the male elves – and went down to dinner with Ondolemar at his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Ryn :( And now the Thalmor leaders are coming...let's hope it all goes well!
> 
> I'd love any feedback you're willing to give :)


	14. Chapter 14

As the sun was going down that evening, Ondolemar, Ryndoril, and Nyslian were walking through the courtyard of the Embassy. It was a lovely summer evening for the north of Skyrim; still a bit chilly compared to anywhere else, but perfectly pleasant nonetheless.

The trio eventually stopped to sit next to the rocky outcropping by one of the paths, Ryndoril leaning against Ondolemar and the Altmer with his arm contentedly wrapped around the Bosmer. Nyslian couldn’t help smiling at the two of them; they were so clearly mad about one another that one couldn’t be unhappy while looking at them.

They were still careful to not act this way in front of others; Nyslian’s personal guard, Elsynn, was the one exception. Ondolemar’s guards had been sent back to Alinor – he had been furious to discover it had been them who made Ryndoril’s capture possible, and refused to work with them any longer. He had wanted a far worse punishment for them, but Nyslian convinced him to let her handle it; he didn’t need more trouble.

This evening, Ryndoril was explaining to Nyslian and Ondolemar everything he’d learned from the Blades; he had to be the one to defeat Alduin, and he had to go back to High Hrothgar to find out exactly how he was supposed to do it.

“I don’t want you leaving on your own again,” Ondolemar said. “You just…you can’t, Ryn.”

“It does seem like a bad idea,” Nyslian agreed. “Even without Elenwen after him, there is no doubt his power will attract the attention of countless others.”

“Well it’s not really an issue at the moment,” Ryndoril said dryly. “I can hardly walk around _here_ without getting exhausted.” It was true they had stopped to sit by the wall because of him; he still tired easily, despite getting stronger.

“Just give it a bit of time,” Nyslian assured him. “You’ll be back to yourself before long, I’m sure of it.”

“In any case,” Ondolemar said, “if you are to go to High Hrothgar…I am going with you.” Ryndoril turned to stare at him, though Nyslian simply hid a smile. She had guessed as much.

“But…what about the Thalmor?” Ryndoril asked. “What about your job?”

“I think,” Nyslian said, “that as the Justiciar Commander, Ondolemar has more right than any under him to be traveling about the country he is meant to keep an eye on. I don’t believe our superiors in Alinor will disagree.”

“I’ve gone with you before,” Ondolemar reminded Ryndoril with a smirk. Ryndoril laughed.

“True,” he nodded, remembering their trip across the country to Winterhold where Ondolemar had business with Ancano, the Thalmor at the College. It had turned into quite an adventure. “But you were still working.”

“And I am _tired_ of working,” Ondolemar said. “You know that. I’m tired of being left to rot in that blasted Dwemer city. Being a Commander was never supposed to be about just paperwork.”

“You really think it’d be okay?” Ryndoril asked, rather excited about the prospect of the Altmer traveling with him. “What about your guards? You can’t just go off without anyone, can you?”

“I believe I will be in safe enough hands,” Ondolemar smirked, squeezing the Bosmer’s shoulders.

“Well, if the rumor I heard was true, I must agree,” Nyslian spoke up. “Did you really kill four of our trained Justiciars all on your own?”

“Well, barely,” Ryndoril said. “But yeah.”

“Most impressive,” Nyslian nodded. It had been regrettable to lose them, but it was always a danger the Justiciars faced, and they had simply been bested when they chose to attack. They were extremely well-trained to prevent such a thing, but it made it all the more impressive that the Bosmer was able to overtake them. “But you are correct that you will not be traveling in the next few days, and we must wait to see what those from Alinor say about it all before anyone makes any decisions.”

“I’m going with him, regardless,” Ondolemar said bluntly. Nyslian smiled.

“I know you are.” She sighed a little. “Well. Thank you for telling me everything, Ryndoril. I appreciate it…I only wish there was more that I could do about it. I was hoping for an answer that involved a bit of action on the part of the Thalmor.”

“Well, don’t worry,” Ryndoril grinned. “I’ve got this.” Nyslian laughed.

“I’m certain you do,” she nodded. “And I suppose you still don’t have any idea where we might even look for the Blades?”

“Not at all,” Ryndoril said ruefully, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. Unless you know of any other ancient Akaviri temples or other Blades lore?”

“We’re looking into it,” Nyslian said, “but we haven’t found anything yet. Well, if you get a sudden idea, let me know.”

“I will, Nys,” Ryndoril said. He was even more furious with Delphine now, knowing that she had gotten away and let him be captured. “Did you ever figure out who the traitor here was?”

“We think it was a Bosmer by the name of Malborn,” Ondolemar said, frowning. “Just after we found you, he disappeared. We have no idea where he is, either, but he had no reason to run off.”

“Malborn,” Ryndoril frowned, thinking. The name sounded familiar somehow, but he wasn’t sure about it. “A wood elf, you say?”

“Yes,” Nyslian said, highly interested now. “Do you know him?”

“I feel like I know the name,” Ryndoril said. “But I’m not sure why. Was he from Valenwood?”

“I don’t know,” Nyslian said. “I never knew anything of his past. I can look into his files, though.” She got to her feet. “Anyway, I will leave you two alone. I’ll see you in the morning, Ryn?”

“Yeah,” Ryndoril grinned. She had asked him to come help her with alchemy, wanting to teach him and learn from him as well. “I’ll be there.”

“Good evening, then,” Nyslian smiled at them both, walking away. Ondolemar sighed, leaning his head over onto the top of the Bosmer’s.

“What’s wrong, love?” Ryndoril asked.

“I will be anxious until this is over tomorrow,” Ondolemar confessed. “And I’m not all that thrilled that you are apparently meant to save the world, all on your own.”

“Nah,” Ryndoril said, turning to look up at the mer with a grin. “I won’t be on my own. I’ll have you, won’t I?” Ondolemar smiled back at that.

“Indeed you will,” Ondolemar nodded. “Though it doesn’t sound like I’ll be able to do very much.”

“Just having you along will be plenty,” Ryndoril said, moving so he was lying down in the Altmer’s lap now. “Remember all that time ago, I told you I was going to get you out of Markarth and take you adventuring with me?”

“I do,” Ondolemar chuckled, running his fingers through Ryndoril’s red hair. “It looks like I will finally get my wish.”

“You just can’t freak out every time something dangerous happens,” Ryndoril teased. “I bet poor Nelacar still hasn’t recovered.” Ondolemar snorted.

“Nelacar was fine,” he said, remembering the way he’d threatened at the Altmer mage for endangering Ryndoril’s life. “But I can manage, I assure you.” Ryndoril smiled, closing his eyes and simply letting himself be content sitting there with Ondolemar, the orange glow of the sunset cast over them both. He soon felt an odd tugging at his hair and opened his eyes again.

“What are you doing?” Ryndoril asked, seeing that the Altmer was concentrating on something.

“Braiding your hair,” Ondolemar smirked. Ryndoril laughed.

“Like a warrior?” he said.

“Exactly like that,” Ondolemar nodded. He paused a moment, then reached up to yank a single golden hair from his own head, incorporating it into the braid he was making at the side of Ryndoril’s head. Ryndoril closed his eyes again, letting the mer do as he wished. “We actually have a legend about it, you know.”

“Mmm. That so?” Ryndoril murmured.

“In Alinor, an elf with a braid in his hair is known to be brave beyond all measure. It is quite an honor,” Ondolemar explained. Ryndoril smiled. “And when the elf has a lover,” Ondolemar went on quietly, his voice more tender than Ryndoril had ever heard it, “a single strand of their lover’s hair is woven into the braid. To keep them together.” Ryndoril opened his eyes again, gazing lovingly up at the Altmer. Ondolemar caught his eye and smiled softly at him.

“Thank you, then,” Ryndoril murmured. Ondolemar brushed Ryndoril’s cheek with the back of his hand, keeping his fingers on the braid. “So where did this tradition come from?” The smile still on his face, Ondolemar began the story.

“Long ago, when the elves were fighting to keep Tamriel, there was a female elven warrior named Arapanzil. She was captured by the Nords, held prisoner in a tall tower for a long time. The tower was at the edge of a fort, you see, and though the elves tried to get inside, none prevailed.

“One night, the warrior heard someone calling to her from the ground. She looked out her window into the darkness below – it was too high up for her to escape. She called back to the voice she’d heard, and was delighted to hear it was the leader of an army of elves. Finding out she was alive, they promised to try to figure out a way to rescue her, and left again.

“This gave her hope; perhaps her fellow elves would be able to rescue her after all,” Ondolemar went on, still braiding while Ryndoril listened patiently. “Her captors continued to torture her, though she still wouldn’t let any information slip. She bravely endured,” he added softly, squeezing Ryndoril’s shoulder, “until the elves came back another night. ‘My lady,’ they called, ‘the fort is impenetrable. We cannot get in!’

“Arapanzil, however, had come up with an idea. That very day, her captors had shorn her long, beautiful hair – she had loved it so, which they knew, and as she wept at its loss, they left it with her in her tower to taunt her, to remind her of what she’d lost. Elven hair is strong,” Ondolemar added. “And she had spent the rest of her day braiding it into a length of rope. ‘I shall let down my hair to you,’ Arapanzil called down to them. ‘You can climb up and take the fort from the inside.’ The elves were concerned this would hurt her, for their armor and weaponry was quite heavy, but she explained her hair had been shaven.

“The elves knew what a grievous thing this was; Altmer were, and still are, quite proud of their long, pale hair.” Ryndoril laughed at this, reaching up to twirl a bit of Ondolemar’s own hair between his fingers. “Yes, myself included,” Ondolemar grinned. “But Arapanzil, being the brave warrior she was, offered it to them as a way to save their mission and allow the elves to take the fort at last. Arapanzil’s own lover, Triaven, was among the legion of elven warriors.

“Once he had climbed the rope of her lovely pale hair, he saw that she was crying. At this, he took her into his arms, kissed away her tears, and said, ‘My only love, it is you I want; to sacrifice your hair to give me yourself is all I could ever ask. You are beautiful.’” Ryndoril smiled at this, tugging Ondolemar’s hair a little. The Altmer smiled back, starting to secure the braid with a tie he had in his pocket.

“And they lived happily ever after?” Ryndoril asked teasingly. Ondolemar snorted.

“Well, no,” he admitted. “Her lover was killed in the raid on the fort, though the elves did win.” Ryndoril burst into laughter.

“Some uplifting story that was!” he said, amused. “The Altmer have very strange fairy tales.”

“You, my little Bosmer, are missing the point,” Ondolemar said, shaking his head though he, too, was amused. “It was her bravery and quick thinking that saved her and allowed the elves to finally win the fort.”

“All right, all right,” Ryndoril chuckled. He reached up to trail his fingers over the braid Ondolemar had given him. “But if I’m Arapanzil here, then you, my Triaven, better not get killed.”

“Indeed not,” Ondolemar smiled. He lifted the Bosmer up in his lap, leaning down so he could kiss the wood elf’s lips. “Besides, I’m much more cunning and lethal than Triaven ever was.”

“I can’t doubt that,” Ryndoril said teasingly, pushing himself up for another kiss. He leaned into Ondolemar after that, wrapping his arms around the Altmer. “Forgive me for saying it too much, but…I love you.” Ondolemar smiled, squeezing the Bosmer tightly and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“I have nothing to forgive,” Ondolemar said softly. “For I love you as well, and would be forever lost without you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Auri-El, does anyone *else* need to brush their teeth after that sap? Honestly, I disgust myself sometimes :P (Let's be real, they deserve some sickeningly-sweet time after all that...)


	15. Chapter 15

Ryndoril spent the next morning in the alchemy lab with Nyslian. They each managed to teach the other a few new things, and by the time the delegation from Alinor was about to arrive, both had learned quite a lot.

“I will go and greet them,” Nyslian said, putting a comforting hand on Ryndoril’s shoulder. “Go change into your armor, and try not to worry.”

“Thanks, Nys,” Ryndoril said with an anxious smile. Whatever Nyslian said, he couldn’t help but be worried about the encounter; he knew Ondolemar was anxious about it, and it made him anxious, too. However…he had endured everything Elenwen had subjected him to, and come out on top. As he walked up to the room he was sharing with Ondolemar, he reached up to touch his braid. He realized if he looked closely enough, he could just spot Ondolemar’s single, golden hair mixed in with his own red.

Yes, he could certainly handle talking to a few high elves.

Ondolemar wasn’t in the room; Ryndoril wasn’t that surprised, though he had hoped to see the mer before they were all subjected to the presence of the Alinor elves. He quickly dressed in his armor, though he couldn’t find his steel dagger. He looked around the room, becoming a bit frantic, before the door opened.

Ondolemar strode in, fully clothed in his Thalmor robes and looking every bit the Commander he was. He smiled tightly at Ryndoril.

“I can’t find my dagger,” Ryndoril said, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. What was the matter with him? He was acting ridiculous – it wasn’t _that_ big of a deal.

“I know,” Ondolemar said, his smile softening a bit as he held out a beautifully-made Elven dagger. “I’ve had this made for you instead.” Ryndoril stared at it for a moment; he had never even dreamed to own such a lovely weapon. His bow was Elven-made, but it had been pure luck he’d stumbled upon it. He reached out to take it gingerly.

“It’s beautiful,” Ryndoril murmured, looking it over. It was emanating a faint red glow. “A fire enchantment?”

“Yes,” Ondolemar nodded. “I did that myself.” Ryndoril swallowed, feeling rather emotional at that.

“Thanks, love,” he murmured.

“It’s Commander today,” Ondolemar reminded him firmly, before letting a smirk slip. Ryndoril laughed, stowing the dagger away and wrapping his arms around Ondolemar.

“It’s love, first and foremost,” Ryndoril argued, hugging the Altmer tightly.

“Good,” Ondolemar smiled, hugging the Bosmer back. “So you do like it?”

“I love it,” Ryndoril said, pulling back from the Altmer. “And you look good.” Ondolemar held his head just a bit higher, looking pleased.

“As do you,” he said. “And with that dagger, now you’re perfect.” Ryndoril grinned. He knew he wasn’t perfect; he wasn’t filling out his armor like he used to, and he was far more anxious than he normally would be. But he appreciated it all the same. “Ryn,” Ondolemar said softly, his eyes turning a bit worried as he took the Bosmer’s hand. “Don’t be so worried. Everything will be okay.”

“This from the mer who thought it was such a big deal in the first place,” Ryndoril said wryly. Ondolemar smiled sheepishly.

“Well, it won’t be,” Ondolemar said. “You will be perfectly safe. I promise you.” Ryndoril let out a breath, trying to calm himself; Ondolemar’s assurances helped.

“Thanks, love,” he said softly. “All right. Let’s get this started…Commander.” Ondolemar smirked at that, squeezing Ryndoril’s hand briefly before letting it go.

“After you, Dragonborn,” Ondolemar replied, motioning Ryndoril out the door.

*****

Ondolemar walked into the main room ahead of Ryndoril, and the Bosmer stopped slightly behind him.

“Ah, and the Commander has brought our guest,” Nyslian smiled at the both of them. “Dragonborn, this is Apollyon, High Mage of the Council in Alinor.” Ryndoril nodded deferentially as he’d been told to do. “Eralorn and Linrael, his second and third in command.” He nodded once more as the three elves looked him over.

“Commander,” Apollyon said, his voice authoritative and firm. “It has been a long time.” The elf seemed quite elderly by elven standards, Ryndoril noticed. Eralorn, another male, seemed younger, but still older than Ondolemar, and Linrael, the female, was around the same age. All three wore robes similar to Ondolemar and Nyslian’s, but they were more decorated; clearly it was to show their higher status.

“It has, my lord,” Ondolemar said politely, nodding as well. “I join Nyslian in welcoming you to the Embassy.”

“Thank you, Commander, and Second Emissary,” Apollyon said. Ryndoril noticed he hadn’t once smiled. Then again, Ondolemar didn’t used to, either. Perhaps it was a Thalmor thing. “Nyslian, I presume you will show us to a room where we can talk privately?”

“Of course, my lord,” Nyslian said, motioning for Ondolemar and Ryndoril to follow. Ryndoril stayed behind Ondolemar, afraid of making a wrong move and annoying the other elves. He typically had no issue with smarting off to any authority figures, but he was anxious over both his fate and Ondolemar’s. He wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize his lover’s position.

The party of elves walked down a small hallway and through a door, stopping outside a small office. 

“This is my office,” Nyslian informed them. “I hope it will suffice?”

“It will do fine,” Apollyon nodded. “Thank you, Nyslian.”

“Are you sure you would not like some wine, or perhaps brandy?” Nyslian asked. “I would be more than happy to – “

“Nonsense,” Apollyon said, his voice firm though not unkind. “We will be fine. Now. If there are no objections, I would like to speak with the Second Emissary and the Dragonborn alone.” Ryndoril glanced up, a bit startled; he had thought he’d be alone. Ondolemar took his hand and squeezed it briefly, out of the line of sight of the other elves.

“No objections whatsoever, my lord,” Nyslian said with a polite smile. “Dragonborn, come with me.”

“Eralorn, Linrael, you shall wait here for me,” Apollyon said. “I will call for you when I need you.”

“Of course, Apollyon,” Eralorn smiled, while Linrael nodded sharply. 

“Do make yourselves at home,” Nyslian invited them. “Should you need anything, I am sure the Commander – “

“Will be happy to provide,” Ondolemar said. He offered the smallest of smiles to Ryndoril before the Bosmer followed Nyslian into her office, shutting the door behind them. Ondolemar stared at the door apprehensively for a moment, trying to calm himself; Nyslian was with Ryndoril, nothing could possibly happen. Everything would be fine.

“It’s good to see you again, Ondolemar,” Eralorn said, his tone quite jovial for an Altmer. The two had been friendly in their earlier years, particularly during training; Eralorn had known Ondolemar’s brother, Aurelion, well. Ondolemar turned to him, a polite smile on his face, and Eralorn laughed. “And I see you’ve learned a new facial expression.” Ondolemar chuckled genuinely at that, relaxing somewhat.

“Eralorn,” he said. “It’s good to see you as well. And Linrael,” he added, nodding to the female mer – another whom he had slept with, though it hadn’t turned out quite as well as it did with Nyslian. She simply nodded sharply at him and went across the room to sit in a chair.

“You’d think she’d have gotten over it by now,” Eralorn smirked in a low voice. Ondolemar found himself amused; he’d forgotten just how much of an open, lighthearted person the other mer was. It was strange, him being so high-ranking, but Ondolemar supposed that _someone_ needed to keep everything light once in a while.

“Isn’t she married?” Ondolemar asked, heading toward one of the more comfortable chairs along the wall of the Embassy.

“For some time now, yes,” Eralorn agreed. “But I suppose it wouldn’t be so comfortable to see one another again, anyhow.” The two mer sat down near one another.

“Well, I presume to be civil, I’m sure she will as well,” Ondolemar said. “How are things back in Alinor?”

“Warm, sunny, and beautiful,” Eralorn smirked. “Same dullness as always.” Ondolemar snorted at that.

“I bid you visit my city of Markarth sometime, if you consider Alinor to be dull in any way, my friend,” Ondolemar suggested. 

“Bah!” Eralorn said, waving a hand. “Nords and Dwemer ruins? No, thank you!” He paused a moment, then looked sidelong at Ondolemar. “So. Is it true?”

“Is what true?” Ondolemar asked apprehensively.

“That you killed that hag,” Eralorn said in a mock whisper. “Er…Elenwen,” he amended. Ondolemar snorted again.

“It is true, yes,” Ondolemar nodded. “Is this how it is to be, then? I am questioned by you while the others answer to Apollyon?”

“Of course not,” Eralorn chuckled. “I don’t know that I’m supposed to ask you about it at all, actually. But one cannot help but be curious. Apollyon will have his time with you, rest assured.”

“’Assured’ is not the word that came to my mind,” Ondolemar said dryly.

“Ah, you’ve nothing to worry about,” Eralorn said, waving his hand dismissively. “The old mer’s grateful he doesn’t have to deal with her anymore. And to have attacked you,” Eralorn shook his head. “Well. Elenwen should’ve known better.”

“She _should_ have known better than to imprison a potential ally,” Ondolemar said harshly. “And a Bosmer, on top of it.”

“I know,” Eralorn said, much more seriously than before. “I was shocked when I heard of it. Has the mer done something?”

“No,” Ondolemar said. “In fact, he was quite interested in aiding the Thalmor at every turn.”

“Was?” Eralorn asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, I can’t speak for him,” Ondolemar said. “But would _you_ run to the aid of those who had imprisoned you for a month to torture you?”

“Fair point,” Eralorn nodded. “He doesn’t say much, does he?”

“Oh, he does,” Ondolemar replied. “I believe he is anxious about today’s meeting.”

“Is he a friend of yours?” Eralorn asked curiously. Ondolemar nodded, trying to remind himself to stop being so obvious.

“He is,” Ondolemar confirmed. “We ran into each other in Markarth one day last year; he was an adventurer then, before this Dragonborn business came up. He aided me in imprisoning this infernal bard in the city for Talos worship, and has proven his worth several times over since then.”

“And _he_ is the reason for that strange expression on your face,” Eralorn teased. Ondolemar reddened with worry, but the other elf laughed. “Worry not, my friend. I am glad to hear you are not quite so lonely here in this province, anyway – even the likes of you could use a friend. Though I do wish you would find yourself a nice female to settle down with.” Ondolemar reddened further. 

“It isn’t any of your business,” Ondolemar said, not looking at the other mer. “I am fine, thank you.”

“All right, I’ll stop,” Eralorn grinned. “I’ll just move on to giving you my personal thanks for having dealt with such a…problem,” he added.

“Well, I am glad that at least _one_ of my superiors does not wish to sentence me to death for it,” Ondolemar said dryly.

“Death?” Eralorn said, surprised. “Is _that_ what you’re worried about? Ondolemar, you couldn’t possibly think that we would do such a thing, could you?”

“Well, I did kill the Ambassador,” Ondolemar admitted. “And the Third Emissary.”

“You were defending yourself, and as you said, a potential ally,” Eralorn said. “We are not stupid, Ondolemar; we can understand circumstances. It isn’t as though you sneaked in to assassinate her in her sleep. Although I doubt many would find fault with that action, either,” he said wryly. Ondolemar had to laugh a little at that, and then he relaxed somewhat as they conversed about Alinor, Skyrim, and politics.

Ondolemar grew increasingly worried as time went on, wishing he could somehow know what was going on behind the closed door. Finally, though, the door opened; Ondolemar forced himself to stay seated and glance as casually as he could over to it. The Bosmer looked shaken; he was trembling, and tightly clutching his emerald amulet. Nyslian’s arm was around him and she looked upset, too. Ondolemar couldn’t keep himself from getting to his feet and quickly striding over to them.

“What happened?” he asked urgently, just barely restraining himself from taking the Bosmer in his arms.

“Everything’s all right,” Nyslian said calmly. “It was simply difficult for the Dragonborn to recount what has happened.”

“I’m okay,” Ryndoril said shakily, his voice low, looking up at Ondolemar. “Promise.”

“Apollyon would like to see you now,” Nyslian added.

“But – “

“Ondolemar, go,” Nyslian said, her gaze hard. “Do not make him wait.” She lowered her own voice so Ondolemar could barely hear it. “I’ve got him. You have my word.” Ondolemar was shaking slightly from the effort of restraining himself, but he knew he could trust Nyslian. There was little else he could do, so after a brief nod of farewell in Eralorn’s direction, he tore his eyes from Ryndoril and stepped into the room, shutting the door.

“Ondolemar,” Apollyon said, sounding a little weary now. “Please, have a seat.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Ondolemar nodded respectfully, sitting down across from his superior.

“What terrible business,” Apollyon said, shaking his head. “We all knew there was something a bit off about the Ambassador, but…this!”

“I know,” Ondolemar said. “I never would have expected it, either.”

“Well, anyway,” Apollyon said, “to business. You know, I am sure, that I am meant to discipline you for your actions. You killed two of our emissaries, and a Thalmor guard.”

“I did,” Ondolemar agreed. “I make no apology, for I was fighting for my own life as well as that of the Dragonborn, who was wrongfully imprisoned.”

“So I have been informed,” Apollyon nodded. “The Dragonborn seems quite fond of you; he says you have been instrumental in getting him back to the point of health he is currently in. Which he also says, is far from how he was before.”

“It is,” Ondolemar said. “And I have done what I can. I informed the Ambassador months ago that I thought the Dragonborn would make a good ally, if she would let him have the chance for it, but she clearly had her own ideas.”

“Yes,” Apollyon nodded. “It appears so. Well. I have been informed of your suggestions to the Ambassador, and I have been told what the Dragonborn was put through at her command. It seems Elenwen was content to go beyond our usual methods with him, and from what I’ve been able to gather, she had no legitimate reason. Not to mention, of course, that she did this without the approval of her other emissary, let alone any of our Council in Alinor.”

“Indeed,” Ondolemar said, trying not to think about the implication of the words ‘beyond our usual methods’.

“So all that remains for me,” Apollyon said, eyeing Ondolemar contemplatively, “is to decide what to do about your punishment. I have spoken with Nyslian about this, and she has made several very good points.” He paused, and Ondolemar sat still, anxious though he was; it wouldn’t do to let his nervousness show. “You do your job well, and you make a fine Commander. She has told me that Elenwen refused to allow you to leave Markarth,” he added.

“That is true, my lord,” Ondolemar agreed nervously.

“In which case,” Apollyon said, “I am suspending you from your duties in the city for a period of one year, as punishment for your actions. At which time I will reevaluate the situation to see what should be done from there.” Ondolemar paused, shock, excitement, and confusion warring within him.

“My…my lord?” Ondolemar stammered, and Apollyon’s eyes softened the slightest bit around the corners, even if he didn’t actually smile.

“You are not to return to the Keep in Markarth and report to the Jarl for the time of your suspension,” Apollyon said. “You are still beholden to the Thalmor, and you will still perform your other duties adequately. A Commander stuck in a Keep is no Commander at all, and – well, ‘suspension’ looks good on paper as a punishment, anyway,” he finished, sounding almost amused.

“I am to patrol Skyrim to keep the Nords in line with the Thalmor beliefs, as I did before?” Ondolemar clarified. This was _punishment_?

“Precisely,” Apollyon nodded. “And from what I’ve heard just now, it sounds as though the Dragonborn may be facing significant danger in his attempt to rid us of the dragons. I believe it a good idea for him to be accompanied by one of our own, particularly if he is to become our ally.”

“He may not wish to do so,” Ondolemar said at once; whatever excitement he had about this situation, he still wasn’t going to let anyone lay claim to Ryndoril if the Bosmer didn’t allow it.

“So I’ve been told,” Apollyon nodded. “I attempted to press the issue, but Nyslian informed me that he has enough to worry about with trying to rid us of the dragon menace – well, she is quite right.”

“And when it’s over?” Ondolemar pressed. “My lord, consider what he’s been through. You cannot force him to become an ally of those who imprisoned him!”

“No, I can’t,” Apollyon conceded. “But we are not the ones who imprisoned him, Commander. Elenwen was. In any case, perhaps having a personal Thalmor escort while he deals with the situation will help make up his mind.”

“I presume you are implying it to be me,” Ondolemar said. 

“Of course I am,” Apollyon nodded. “He will obviously be traveling, and as a Thalmor Commander, that’s what you need to do as well. It seems a perfect match to me.” Ondolemar reddened slightly at the choice of words, but Apollyon didn’t say anything.

“All right, then,” Ondolemar nodded. “I accept the consequences.” Consequences, indeed.

“Then you are dismissed,” Apollyon said, nodding to the Altmer in front of him and turning to the book he had apparently been keeping notes in. “Wait out there with the others. I will be out in a minute.”

“Yes, my lord,” Ondolemar said, getting to his feet and hurrying out the door.

*****

Ryndoril had let Nyslian lead him over to a long, comfortable bench, near Eralorn. Ondolemar had just shut the door to the office, and Linrael was still sitting in a chair across the room, looking almost sulky as she read a book she’d picked up.

“Hello, Dragonborn,” Eralorn said in a friendly way. “Are you all right?” Ryndoril looked up at the elf in surprise, letting go of his amulet and letting it drop to his chest again.

“Yeah,” he said, cursing his voice for shaking. He liked this elf at once; he looked a bit like Ondolemar, though his chin was not as prominent and his hair was white.

“Apollyon wanted to hear what Elenwen did,” Nyslian explained, keeping a comforting hand on Ryndoril’s knee. She hadn’t liked hearing it; it was hard to think about, particularly considering she didn’t like torture herself. She knew Ryndoril would prefer Ondolemar’s comfort to her own right then, but she was doing what she could.

“Ah,” Eralorn said knowingly. “You just got out a few days ago, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Ryndoril nodded.

“I am sincerely sorry,” Eralorn said, his voice quite honest. “Believe me when I say, I understand how hard it is, and I would never wish such torture upon another elf.”

“You – you’ve been captured like that?” Ryndoril asked. Eralorn nodded.

“Back in the Great War,” Eralorn said. “Some Nords got hold of me with a magicka poison. Had me more than a month.”

“That’s terrible,” Ryndoril said, though he felt a new kinship with this elf that shared his experience. “What’d they do?”

“I’m not sure that’s a story you should hear at the moment,” Eralorn said with a small smile. “Best to deal with your own demons for now without me adding more.”

“Right,” Ryndoril agreed. He put a hand on Nyslian’s, turning to her. “I’m all right now. Sorry for…”

“Don’t,” Nyslian smiled, squeezing his hand before removing hers. “It has to be hard to relive it. I understand.”

“That is a lovely amulet,” Eralorn remarked as Ryndoril’s hand come up to fiddle with it again. “It’s enchanted?”

“Er…yes,” Ryndoril said, reddening slightly. “It has a protection spell on it. It…was a gift.”

“Someone clearly cares for you,” Eralorn said with a slight smile. Ryndoril didn’t say anything else; he was very close to giving their relationship away. Eralorn seemed to notice the tension, because he changed the subject. “So, tell me. What’s it like being Dragonborn?” Ryndoril laughed at this unexpected question.

“Well, it’s overwhelming,” Ryndoril admitted. “A lot of pressure, really.”

“Yes, but what’s it like to Shout?” Eralorn wanted to know. “It must be _amazing_.”

“It is pretty amazing,” Ryndoril said. “People don’t tend to like it when I do it nearby.”

“Does it hurt them?” Eralorn wanted to know.

“Well, not the Shouts I know,” Ryndoril said. “Not much, anyway. I only know two Shouts so far, though.”

“Fascinating,” Eralorn said, his eyes sparkling with excitement. Ryndoril almost laughed again; this mer was very interesting. Just as eager as Ondolemar always was to hear his stories, and not nearly as hesitant to show it. “Could you show me?”

“I don’t think it a good idea for the Dragonborn to go Shouting indoors,” Nyslian said dryly. “We do rather like our Embassy standing, Eralorn.” The other Altmer laughed.

“All right, all right, fair enough. Maybe in the courtyard later?”

“Maybe, yeah,” Ryndoril nodded. He noticed that the other elf, Linrael, had come closer to them as he discussed the Shouting. “Hello,” he said to her, cautiously friendly.

“You’ll demonstrate your ability to Shout?” Linrael asked without preamble. He couldn’t quite read her tone or her expression; she was nothing like Eralorn, that much was certain.

“If that’s what you all want, sure,” Ryndoril shrugged. She gazed at him for a moment, disconcerting him.

“You’re out of practice,” she concluded. This startled Ryndoril.

“What?” he asked.

“You’re an archer,” she said crisply, nodding. “I can see it. But you’re out of practice; how long were you locked up again?”

“A…a month,” Ryndoril mumbled, looking away from her.

“You should start training again,” Linrael said. Eralorn snorted.

“Lin, be nice,” he said. “Sorry about her. She’s blunt as a wooden axe.”

“I simply speak the truth,” Linrael said, frowning at her companion. “I am not trying to be rude. Do you still have your bow?”

“It’s up in the room you’re staying in, Ryndoril,” Nyslian spoke up. He looked at her, surprised but grateful.

“Apparently, I do,” Ryndoril said.

“Train with me this afternoon,” Linrael said, less an invitation than a command. She was an odd sort; blunt and directly honest, but not exactly unkind.

“All right,” he replied. He’d been planning to train anyway, after all.

“And after she lectures you for an hour on the bow, I’ll whip your sword arm back into shape,” Eralorn winked at Ryndoril, and he chuckled nervously.

“I don’t know how much I’m up for,” he hedged.

“You’ll be fine,” Linrael said firmly, leaving him little choice in the matter. “Then that is what we will do. What’s your name again, Dragonborn?”

“Ryndoril,” he replied. She nodded.

“Pleasure to meet you, Ryndoril,” she said formally, holding out her hand. He took it and shook it; she was quite strong, and she too had the build of an archer.

“You, too,” Ryndoril said. He was utterly unsure what to make of her. The door to the office opened again then and Ondolemar came out, looking rather bewildered. Ryndoril started to get up to go to him, forgetting himself, but Nyslian subtly held him back, reminding him to stay put in front of the others.

“Well? Sentenced to ‘death by flaming trousers’?” Linrael said coolly. Ondolemar snorted, shaking his head.

“No,” he said. “But I thank you for the eagerness, Linrael.” She smirked slightly, surprising Ryndoril; he hadn’t been sure she could make such an expression. “I will discuss it with the two of you later,” he added to Nyslian and Ryndoril. “Apollyon has asked us all to remain here; he wants to speak to all of us.”

“Is everything all right, at least?” Nyslian asked hopefully. Ryndoril was glad she had done so; he wanted the answer as well, but it was less strange for Nyslian to ask.

“Yes,” Ondolemar said, a small smile on his lips. “Everything is fine.” He took his seat next to Eralorn again, glad to see that Ryndoril seemed to be doing better.

“Our new friend is going to train with us this afternoon,” Eralorn said, sounding excited. “And show us his Shout.”

“Is he now?” Ondolemar asked in amusement. He should have guessed the other elves would be intrigued by the Shouts.

“Looks like it,” Ryndoril smiled, still a bit anxious. He’d never been self-conscious about his fighting ability before, but knowing how weak he currently was, he was wary about the idea.

Apollyon came out the door a moment later, coming over to stand in front of everyone else.

“Now that matters have been satisfactorily settled,” he began, “there is one final thing that must be attended to. Nyslian has done a fine job as our second emissary for many years now, and now that we are in need of a first emissary, I can think of no better fit. Eralorn?”

“Agreed, Apollyon,” Eralorn nodded, his voice taking on a more formal tone. “I believe Nyslian would make a fine Ambassador to Skyrim.”

“Linrael?”

“Agreed,” Linrael said, also nodding. “There are none better suited to the task of protecting our interests in this province.”

“Then, Nyslian, I name you Thalmor Ambassador to Skyrim, our First Emissary,” Apollyon said. “You may choose your second and third emissaries and discuss the matter with me as soon as they have been found.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Nyslian said. She had expected this; there was no surprise there.

“And now,” Apollyon said, sounding interested, “I believe I heard something about training, did I not?”

“You did,” Eralorn said, his voice returning to a tone of excitement. “What do you say, Ryndoril?”

“I’ll do my best,” Ryndoril replied, trying not to sound worried.

“Your bow is up in the room, as I said,” Nyslian told him. “Ondolemar, would you show him where, please? I would like to stay here and talk with Apollyon.”

“Of course, Nyslian,” Ondolemar said, thoroughly grateful that she was giving them a moment together. Then he smirked as he passed her. “Not that I have a choice but to listen to you now…boss.”

“Oh, get out of here,” Nyslian laughed, smacking at his elbow. He snickered, Ryndoril laughing too as he followed behind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does anyone else really like Eralorn? He came to me and was just really fun to write. I feel like in groups of power like that, there has to be at least ONE person who's not always serious and has a bit of fun with life :) Hope you enjoyed that one. See? Elenwen was a radical outlier - they're not *all* crazy and evil!


	16. Chapter 16

The elves stayed a few paces apart until they were safely in their shared bedroom, where Ondolemar yanked Ryndoril off his feet and into his arms, holding him tightly.

“Are you all right, Ryn?” Ondolemar murmured.

“Well, if I could breathe I would be,” Ryndoril said chokingly; Ondolemar had him in a death grip. Ondolemar let out a shaky laugh, loosening his hold on the Bosmer slightly. “I’m all right, love. I promise you.”

“Thank the gods,” Ondolemar breathed in relief, bending down to kiss Ryndoril. “All right. Now where did she put that blasted bow?” He turned to search for it, and Ryndoril looked on the other side of the room; he hadn’t seen it lying around anywhere since he’d been there, but he hadn’t looked for it, either.

“What about you?” Ryndoril asked. “Are _you_ all right? What happened in there?”

“Clearly, I underestimated the contempt everyone had for Elenwen,” Ondolemar smirked. “As punishment for my crimes, Apollyon has suspended me from my duties in Markarth for a year.”

“What?” Ryndoril said, spinning around to look at the elf. “You’ve got to be kidding – you lost your job?”

“No,” Ondolemar chuckled, holding out a placating hand to the Bosmer. “Essentially, I am being assigned as your guard as you go off to fight the dragons, and am no longer beholden to the Keep in Markarth.”

“Really?” Ryndoril’s face lit up. “You’re…you’re being _told_ to come with me?”

“That I am,” Ondolemar grinned, quite as excited as the Bosmer seemed to be. Oh, it had been so long since he had been able to travel Skyrim! And to have the ability to do it with Ryndoril at his side, Elenwen no longer hanging over his head, and his infernal guards not dogging his every step – it was more than he could’ve dreamed for. He was sure that Apollyon had no idea the treat he was really presenting Ondolemar with.

“Oh, love,” Ryndoril said happily, going back across the room and throwing his arms around the Altmer. “That’s wonderful.”

“Indeed,” Ondolemar said, laughing as he patted the Bosmer on the back. “But we’ll celebrate later. They’ll be waiting for us, and we don’t want to raise suspicion _now_.”

“No, we don’t,” Ryndoril agreed. They searched for the bow and Ryndoril’s arrows for a few more minutes, not finding them anywhere, before there was a knock on the door. Ryndoril answered it, finding a smirking Nyslian holding his bow.

“I…ah… _forgot_ that I had this cleaned for you, and new arrows made,” she said wryly. “I only just remembered.” Ryndoril laughed.

“Thanks, Nys,” he said, taking the bow from her.

“I appreciate the few moments alone,” Ondolemar added, helping Ryndoril adjust his quiver and bow across his back.

“Of course,” Nyslian grinned. “But they _are_ waiting, so we should go. You know,” she added as they started to walk off, “that bow suits you. I can see how Linrael knew you were an archer; it fits.”

“I just hope I don’t make a fool of myself,” Ryndoril said ruefully.

“Don’t worry,” Nyslian said. “They understand you aren’t in top shape. And I think they’re all more excited to see your Shout than anything. So am I, come to that,” she added.

“As long as they don’t push him too hard,” Ondolemar said, shaking his head.

“You overprotective elf,” Nyslian teased. “Ryndoril will be fine. And besides,” she added with a grin, “I received a case of spiced wine delivered to the Embassy this morning. That ought to help any aches and pains he ends up with.”

“Really?” Ryndoril said excitedly. “Oh, excellent!” It had been quite some time since he’d had it, and he found himself grateful that Ondolemar had insisted on asking for it. They walked into the room where the others were waiting a moment later; Ryndoril saw that Linrael had retrieved her bow from somewhere, and Eralorn carried a sword on his hip.

“Ready?” Linrael asked, and when Ryndoril nodded, she turned to head out the door. She really was strangely abrupt, but Ryndoril found himself getting used to her. 

Once in the courtyard, Apollyon asked for a demonstration of Ryndoril’s Shouting ability. Ensuring everyone was out of the way, he showed them the whirlwind sprint, then looked around for something to push away with unrelenting force.

“Use it on me,” Eralorn said enthusiastically, walking toward him.

“What?” Ryndoril said in shock. “Oh, come on, no!” How could he use a Shout on one of the Thalmor leaders?

“You said it won’t kill me,” Eralorn reminded him. “Come on. I want to see!” Ryndoril looked helplessly at Ondolemar, who shrugged.

“It _won’t_ kill him,” Ondolemar said. “If he’s that eager, let him feel it.” Eralorn looked like an excited child.

“All right,” Ryndoril said, shaking his head in defeat. “Everyone else stand back.” He faced Eralorn, prepared himself, and Shouted, “ _Fus…ro dah_!” Eralorn was thrown back several yards, landing in a heap on the ground while Linrael snickered. Even Ondolemar smirked.

“Ouch,” Eralorn complained, though he couldn’t help laughing a little as he got to his feet. “That’s pretty amazing.”

“And those are the only ones you know?” Nyslian asked. Ryndoril nodded.

“So far, yeah,” he said. “The Greybeards said something about there being other words scattered across Skyrim. I’ll probably find them eventually.”

“Excellent,” Apollyon said, looking pleased; Ryndoril knew he was thinking of the Bosmer’s potential as an ally with more powerful Shouts.

“You use that on me, you’re getting an arrow in your knee,” Linrael advised Ryndoril in her same serious tone. He held his hands up in a peaceful gesture.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I won’t.”

Ryndoril spent a bit of time with his bow then, Linrael helping him regain his stance and challenging him with a bit of target practice. He didn’t feel like he was doing a particularly good job; on a good day before his capture, he would have knocked the other mer’s arrow away from the center of the target every time, but there were a few times he even missed the target altogether.

“Impressive,” she finally said, nodding at him. “For being so recently healed, I expected far worse. Practice and you’ll be top notch in no time.”

“Thanks,” Ryndoril said, breathing a little heavily. His muscles were straining from trying to hold the bow properly again; it was incredibly frustrating, knowing that he’d done it so easily before.

“Here,” Ondolemar said, handing Ryndoril a water flask. “Rest a minute.” Ryndoril gratefully took a drink, sitting down on a stone bench to the side of the courtyard.

“I hope you’re not too exhausted for a bit of swordplay,” Eralorn grinned.

“You think you could beat me either way?” Ryndoril asked, grinning back – the Altmer was easy to tease. Eralorn laughed. “I don’t have a sword, you know. The only one I have is at my house. I hadn’t been using it that often.”

“Then I’ll have no trouble beating you,” Eralorn smirked.

“Don’t listen to him,” Nyslian said, rolling her eyes. “Here.” She handed him her own blade – also elven-made.

“So do the Thalmor just give these out like sweet rolls?” Ryndoril asked, admiring the craftsmanship.

“One of the many benefits of allying yourself with us,” Apollyon said proudly. Ryndoril had thought it would bother him, being asked and pestered to ally himself with the Dominion, but he found it actually amused him how hard this mer was pushing.

“I’ll have to remember that,” Ryndoril laughed. He took a last drink of the water, handing the flask back to Ondolemar, and got to his feet. “Right, then. Shall we?” He tried to sound more cocky than he really felt, hoping it would help him _look_ better at the very least.

Eralorn nodded, looking rather businesslike instead of laughing now. Ryndoril got the feel of the sword – it was lightweight, and easy to swing, and he preferred it to his Nightingale blade he had in Markarth. Perhaps he’d have to look into getting one of these.

Ondolemar took Ryndoril’s vacated seat on the bench, sitting next to Nyslian. He was feeling a bit anxious; though the Bosmer had clearly been worn out by working with the bow, at least Linrael hadn’t been shooting _at_ him. This was an actual fight, though he knew Eralorn wouldn’t be trying to kill Ryndoril. It seemed Nyslian sensed his nervousness, because she discreetly took his hand, squeezing his fingers reassuringly.

They watched as the Bosmer and Altmer circled one another, each sizing the other up. Eralorn moved first, jabbing at Ryndoril’s side, testing him; Ryndoril easily dodged it and brought his blade around Eralorn’s other side, surprising the Altmer. Eralorn grinned, pleased that the Bosmer was proving a worthwhile opponent.

The two sparred back and forth for several minutes; Ondolemar twitched anxiously every time Eralorn got a hit on the Bosmer, but Ryndoril barely even flinched. Ondolemar was quite proud of his lover, watching him handle this so well; it was easy to see he was tired, but he wasn’t going to give up.

A few minutes later, Eralorn managed to get a hit in while the tired Bosmer was too slow to block; it struck his armor hard, knocking him to the ground. Ondolemar started to get to his feet without even considering it, but Nyslian held him firmly.

“Just wait,” Nyslian murmured. She had faith in the Bosmer’s ability to recover himself, though she understood Ondolemar’s desire to protect him. Eralorn grinned, coming at Ryndoril with his blade held out, ready to hold it at the Bosmer’s chest and demand surrender. The panting Bosmer was clearly exhausted and in a bit of pain, but Eralorn paid it no mind. He stood over the wood elf, lowering his sword to Ryndoril’s chest above his heart. Ondolemar was beside himself, and it was only Nyslian’s death grip on his hand that kept him charging after Eralorn, knocking him away from Ryndoril on principle.

“Yield?” Eralorn smirked. Ryndoril dropped his sword, starting to hold his hands up, but then grinned; before anyone else knew what was happening, Ryndoril had once more Shouted Eralorn across the courtyard, leaving himself free to get up. 

Breathing hard, but amused and bolstered by the laughter he could hear from the others, he grabbed Nyslian’s sword and walked toward Eralorn. The other mer was laughing as well, but got to his feet before Ryndoril reached him.

“Nice one,” Eralorn said approvingly, holding out his hand to the Bosmer. Ryndoril shook it. “Excellent use of your ability. You did pretty nicely for this being the first time you’ve fought in so long.”

“Thanks,” Ryndoril said, pleased the mer thought so. He headed back over to the bench, needing desperately to sit down, and Nyslian got up at once to give him room. Ondolemar handed him the flask of water again, and Ryndoril gulped down what was left. “Divines,” he breathed, relaxing a bit. “I think that last hit left a bruise.”

“Get some proper elven armor then,” Eralorn smirked.

“I’m not sure they make it short enough for him,” Linrael spoke up, the tiniest of smirks quirking her lips. Ondolemar snorted.

“Are you two finished playing with the Dragonborn, then?” Apollyon asked. “We should be headed back to the Isles, it’s a long enough journey.”

“It’s already nearly dinnertime,” Nyslian said. “Please, my lord, the three of you are welcome to stay here tonight.” Apollyon considered this; it _was_ getting a bit late.

“Well, I suppose we shall,” Apollyon nodded. “Are you sure there is room for us?”

“Of course,” Nyslian said at once. “We are only short one bedroom, and I don’t think Ondolemar will protest staying with Ryndoril for one night; it does make it easier, should he need assistance.”

“Precisely,” Ondolemar said, trying to hide his smirk. Ryndoril laughed.

“I guess I can tolerate him,” the Bosmer agreed. 

“I do believe you sweaty elves ought to get cleaned up for dinner, then,” Nyslian said. They nodded their agreement, and Ondolemar headed off with Ryndoril while Nyslian showed the three guests where they’d be staying. 

“Are you doing all right?” Ondolemar asked worriedly when they had reached the privacy of their room.

“Yeah,” Ryndoril smiled tiredly. “It was good to train a little bit again. Just…a lot more sore than I thought I’d be.”

“Shall I heal you?” Ondolemar asked as Ryndoril gathered some of the finer clothes he thought he ought to wear to dinner.

“Nah,” Ryndoril said. “Look kind of suspicious if I suddenly come down and look fine again, won’t it?”

“True,” Ondolemar nodded. He kissed the Bosmer briefly on the forehead. “You nearly scared me to death down there, you know.”

“What, think I’m not good enough to handle myself?” Ryndoril grinned. Ondolemar shook his head.

“I know you’re good enough,” Ondolemar said seriously, “but I also know you’re still recovering. And seeing someone with their sword at your chest…”

“It’s all right, love,” Ryndoril murmured, taking the Altmer’s hand and squeezing it. “I’m fine. Promise.”

“I know,” Ondolemar sighed. “I’d just prefer it to stay that way.” He leaned down then, kissing the Bosmer softly. The tingle just that small kiss sent through him was now becoming familiar; he _missed_ being with the Bosmer, and it was starting to really get to him.

“Mmm,” Ryndoril moaned quietly into the kiss, brushing his tongue along Ondolemar’s lips. 

“You need to go clean up,” Ondolemar breathed, pulling away. By the gods, but he didn’t want to say that right now.

“I’d rather be dirty,” Ryndoril smirked, causing Ondolemar to chuckle.

“Later,” Ondolemar promised softly. “We’ll have time later.”

“All right,” Ryndoril sighed, wishing he didn’t have to go. He knew Ondolemar was right, though; it wouldn’t do for them to both be late for dinner…or rather, not show up at all. With a last longing look at the Altmer, he left the room, drawing his bath to clean up.

As much as he’d wanted Ondolemar ever since he’d seen him again, he’d so far been much too weak and hurt to act on it. Now, though he hurt again and was quite tired, he was rather desperate for the Altmer. More than a month without him now…and all the mer’s kisses accomplished was making Ryndoril want to beg Ondolemar to take him right there.

Trying not to think about that, he quickly bathed and changed. He wondered if he could risk walking the short way to the room next door without his tunic to tease Ondolemar, but decided against it; it was too much of a risk he’d be spotted by one of the others, and they’d surely think him mad for walking around half-dressed.

When he got to the room, however, he saw that Ondolemar was not there anyway. He made his own way down to the dining room where he found Nyslian deep in conversation with Ondolemar, though no one else had joined them yet.

“Er…sorry,” Ryndoril said sheepishly when Nyslian spotted him. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Don’t be silly,” Nyslian smiled, motioning him over. “You’re fine, Ryndoril. You might as well know, too.”

“Know what?” Ryndoril asked, sitting down next to Ondolemar. He realized that with the tablecloth and the height of the table, it wouldn’t be hard to reach over and take Ondolemar’s hand with no one noticing. Or…reaching for anything else.

“Apparently, Nyslian has decided on her Third Emissary,” Ondolemar snorted. This drove thoughts of teasing the mer under the table out of his mind for the moment.

“You?” Ryndoril guessed. 

“And who else?” Nyslian grinned. “If only I could get him to agree to it.”

“Well, you should,” Ryndoril said, though he felt a bit let down by it and he was certain it showed in his voice. He’d thought perhaps after they were out exploring Skyrim together for a while, he might be able to end up convincing the Altmer to travel with him permanently. It sounded as though he was going to be stuck doing desk work again, though.

“And that’s exactly why I’m not going to,” Ondolemar said dryly, glancing at Nyslian. “Even he knows what it would mean.”

“Ondolemar,” Nyslian said exasperatedly, “I’m not going to keep here at the Embassy. This is something that would only happen after your year of suspension is up anyway,” she added. “And even then, you will only be required here occasionally.”

“Don’t the emissaries live here, though?” Ryndoril asked. “Sitting here, day in and day out, more paperwork…”

“Precisely,” Ondolemar said. “It was bad enough in Markarth. I don’t care to continue it, even if it is at the Embassy.” Nyslian threw up her hands in defeat.

“Fine, don’t believe me,” she said, shaking her head. “Forget I asked for now. We can discuss it again in a year. But I’m leaving the position open until that time.” She sighed. “How are you feeling after this afternoon, Ryndoril?”

“Worn out,” Ryndoril said. “But I’m glad I got some practice in. I needed that.”

“Good,” Nyslian smiled. “And I’ve told them to serve your dinner with the spiced wine. The rest will be taken up to your room.”

“Thanks, Nys,” Ryndoril grinned.

“That’s Madame Ambassador now,” Ondolemar reminded him, smirking at the other Altmer.

“Oh, Auri-El, don’t start that,” Nyslian huffed. “You never referred to me as Second Emissary Nyslian before, did you?”

“But you weren’t directly my superior before,” Ondolemar teased. “Now I must behave properly.”

“And maybe learn to say ‘Ambassador’ without sneering,” Ryndoril suggested with a grin.

“That _will_ be difficult,” Ondolemar agreed. Nyslian shoved him. “Now, that’s no behavior for an Ambassador to engage in,” he said slyly.

“Abusing your position already, Nyslian?” Eralorn asked, striding into the dining room. “I should have guessed.”

“Abusing _me_ , more like,” Ondolemar replied.

“You are impossible,” Nyslian informed him. “How ever did you become friends with this idiot?” she asked Ryndoril. The Bosmer grinned.

“Hell if I know,” he said, winking at a disgruntled Ondolemar.

“So he’s only gotten worse, then?” Eralorn asked. “No surprise there.”

The elves eventually stopped ribbing one another, sitting down to a polite dinner. Ryndoril regaled the other elves with a few tales of his adventures; Ondolemar had heard most of them, but the others seemed to rather like the Bosmer. Ondolemar was pleased by that; clearly he needn’t have worried so much. He knew that Elenwen had been the exception rather than the rule when it came to the Dominion elves, but it was still a pleasant surprise that they seemed to accept Ryndoril so easily.

For once in a very long time, things seemed to be going right. He realized that for the first time since before the Great War, he could honestly call himself ‘happy’.


	17. Chapter 17

Ryndoril politely excused himself for bed, claiming he was quite tired; it was easily believed, after everything he’d been through. He even made a show of having trouble walking, asking Ondolemar for help. The Altmer tried to hide his smirk, bidding the others good night as he ‘helped’ Ryndoril from the room.

“You are surely not _that_ injured after this afternoon,” Ondolemar snorted, keeping his voice low as they approached their room.

“Oh, but I am,” Ryndoril said gravely, leaning even more heavily on Ondolemar. “It was _terrible_ , love. Sore _everywhere_ …”

“Well, then,” Ondolemar said airily, shutting the door behind them at last and turning to the Bosmer, “I suppose I ought to leave you alone to rest. I’ll just go – “

“Don’t even think about it, elf,” Ryndoril growled, his ‘aches’ suddenly fading as he pounced on the Altmer. It was true he was quite sore, but it was secondary in his mind at the moment, and he really couldn’t care less. Ondolemar chuckled into the kiss Ryndoril had just initiated, squeezing the Bosmer close to him.

“Are you all right, though?” Ondolemar breathed, worry in his voice as he pulled back slightly from the Bosmer. “Truly?”

“I’m fine,” Ryndoril grinned, his fingers tangling in Ondolemar’s long hair. “Don’t worry about me, love.” Ondolemar smiled softly at him then, bringing his hand up to trail down the braid in the elf’s hair.

“My brave Bosmer,” he murmured quietly, gazing at him. “Do you have any idea how proud I am of how you handled everything today?”

“Hey,” Ryndoril said with a shrug and slightly anxious laugh, “I made it out of the dungeon, didn’t I? And now I’ve got you with me, at least.”

“Ryn,” Ondolemar said, his voice pained as he pulled the Bosmer close, holding the red head tightly to his chest. “Divines, Ryn. I’m so – “ he was cut off as Ryndoril pulled back, pressing a finger to the Altmer’s lips.

“Don’t apologize,” Ryndoril said softly, his brown eyes serious. “You’ve done everything for me, love, and you don’t have anything to apologize for. Just…just let me have you. _Please_.”

“Anything,” Ondolemar said, his voice rough. “Anything you wish, Ryndoril.” Ryndoril smiled a little at that, bringing his hand over to rest on the Altmer’s cheek.

“Then I wish for you to love me,” Ryndoril murmured hopefully.

“Always,” Ondolemar said fiercely before leaning down and kissing the Bosmer hard once more. They pulled apart a moment later, both breathless, and Ondolemar pushed Ryndoril gently toward the bed. “Undress and lie down,” he commanded softly.

“You’re so romantic,” Ryndoril teased. Ondolemar smiled a little.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he explained, “and I wish to heal you a little again, whatever you may protest.” Ryndoril couldn’t help but smile at the loving caress in his voice.

“Thanks, love,” he replied, doing as the Altmer asked. He took his time removing his clothes, wishing to tease Ondolemar a bit; when he heard a sharp intake of breath as he removed his trousers, he knew he’d done it well.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Ondolemar said, his voice slightly strangled. Gods, but he wanted the Bosmer badly. His body wasn’t quite back to how it had been before, but he was no less beautiful for it. As Ryndoril lay down on the bed, he realized he ought to remove some of his own clothing as well; he quickly shed it, making no show of it and unceremoniously tossing everything to the ground.

“Much better,” Ryndoril grinned as Ondolemar walked over to the bed, now clad only in his trousers. Ondolemar chuckled, shaking his head as he sat next to the Bosmer.

“What hurts?” he asked softly.

“All over,” Ryndoril said with a rueful laugh. “Not used to any of my muscles being used like that anymore.”

“Then I shall heal you everywhere,” Ondolemar said decisively, first placing his hand on Ryndoril’s cheek and leaning down to kiss his lips softly. Ryndoril was smiling as he pulled away, and the Bosmer closed his eyes to relax into Ondolemar’s healing touch. 

He started with Ryndoril’s arms, sending healing magic through them to help the muscle soreness, and then proceeded to cover the rest of the Bosmer’s body. The only sound that broke the silence was Ryndoril’s calm, even breathing mixed with Ondolemar’s own ragged breaths; touching the Bosmer like this was driving him mad.

“That feels much better, love,” Ryndoril finally whispered, opening his eyes slightly and reaching for Ondolemar’s hand. “Thank you.”

“Of course, Ryn,” Ondolemar murmured. “Is there anything else?”

“Yes,” Ryndoril said, a wicked smile coming to his face then. “Something else is very much in need of your attention.” Ondolemar laughed, shaking his head at the cheeky Bosmer.

“You _ought_ to rest,” Ondolemar said, squeezing the Bosmer’s fingers. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Ondolemar,” Ryndoril said more seriously, sitting up and gazing at the Altmer, “you’re not going to. I promise you, I’m all right. Please,” he added, his voice little more than a desperate whisper as he ran his fingers along the Altmer’s forearm. “I’ve missed you so much, love. I…I need you tonight.”

“Ryn,” Ondolemar murmured, squeezing Ryndoril’s hand. “I’ve missed you, too.” Without another word, Ondolemar leaned over, capturing the Bosmer’s lips as he tangled his long fingers in the soft red hair.

Ryndoril fell back, pulling Ondolemar with him until the Altmer was lying atop him. It was still a little painful; no healing spell could completely get rid of that. But he didn’t care, because his lover was surrounding him, steadying him, _loving_ him.

Ondolemar pulled back a little, getting onto his knees long enough to undo his trousers; he had been patient long enough, and with his lover practically begging for him, he wasn’t going to keep waiting. He needed this as badly as Ryndoril; feeling the other mer’s skin on his, feeling the Bosmer beneath him, real and warm and solid and _alive_.

“Ondolemar,” Ryndoril whimpered as the Altmer’s length brushed against his own, both of them ready and wanting.

“Yes, Ryn,” Ondolemar answered, thrusting a little against the Bosmer’s solid length and making them both groan. “Yes…” He rested his weight on one hand and let the other come up to Ryndoril’s hair, brushing through it until he found the long, pointed ear. As he grasped the sensitive tip, the Bosmer stiffened and tried to jerk away, a short whimper escaping his throat. Ondolemar froze, quickly pulling his hand back, and stared down at the Bosmer in concern. Ryndoril’s eyes had widened and he suddenly looked horrified. “Ryndoril?”

“S-sorry,” Ryndoril breathed, trying to calm himself. Dammit, what was this about? Ondolemar wasn’t Elenwen, or Rulindil! He wasn’t going to _hurt_ him! But just the feeling of fingers on his ear had brought back the memory full force, and now he couldn’t stop it.

“Ryn, what is it?” Ondolemar asked, desperately worried as he caressed the Bosmer’s cheek. “What’s wrong? Tell me.”

“It’s…it’s nothing,” Ryndoril said shakily. Curse his mind, curse his weak, ridiculous mind! This was so stupid! “Don’t – it’s – fine.”

“It’s not ‘nothing’,” Ondolemar murmured, pressing a kiss to the Bosmer’s forehead. “Something has you upset. What did I do?”

“It’s – ugh,” Ryndoril groaned in frustration, squeezing his eyes shut. Why did he have to go and mess everything up? It had all felt so good… “My ear,” he mumbled, opening his eyes but not looking at Ondolemar.

“Your ear?” Ondolemar asked, perplexed, as he reached up to touch it gently again. The Bosmer once more flinched away, and Ondolemar returned his hand to Ryndoril’s cheek. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” Ryndoril said miserably. “It’s…she…she’d fold it over and pinch it. Hard. It…was painful. Touching it just…just made me remember.”

“Ryn,” Ondolemar breathed, hurting for the elf beneath him. He knew what it felt like; it was an effective way to control young mer, and Ondolemar had it done to him too many times to count when he was a child. “I’m so sorry.” He kissed the Bosmer’s other cheek. “I didn’t mean to – “

“I know!” Ryndoril said, angry at himself. “I know you didn’t, but it did! Gods,” he bit out. “Is it just going to be like this forever? Everything will be ruined, because something will always – “

“Shhh,” Ondolemar soothed, his heart hurting at the Bosmer’s pain. “Calm down, Ryn. Nothing is ruined. Just relax.” He felt the angry elf’s breathing calm after a moment, and finally Ryndoril looked up at him.

“I’m sorry,” Ryndoril said sheepishly.

“It’s all right,” Ondolemar said kindly. “I know it’s painful. Our ears are incredibly sensitive, and it’s all too easy to inflict pain with them. I’m sorry she did that to you.”

“I didn’t mean to mess everything up,” Ryndoril sighed, casting his eyes downward. Ondolemar kissed him softly.

“You didn’t,” he said. “You know I would never hurt you.”

“I know,” Ryndoril said. “It was just…it triggered the memory…”

“I understand,” Ondolemar said, his heart clenching. “It’s fine. Are you all right? Would you prefer to stop this tonight?” He didn’t want to, he was desperate for the Bosmer, but he was determined that he would be as sweet and patient and gentle as he knew how to be; Ryndoril deserved no less, now more than ever.

“No!” Ryndoril said desperately, his hands clutching the Altmer as though afraid he’d disappear. “No, please, love…don’t stop.” Ondolemar smiled at him.

“All right,” he nodded. He kissed the Bosmer gently again, once more bringing his fingers up to caress his ear. This time when Ryndoril jerked, he simply continued his gentle touches, letting Ryndoril get used to them again. “I would never hurt you, Ryn,” he murmured, pulling back for just a moment. “Never.”

“I know,” Ryndoril breathed back. It was starting to feel quite good again. Between the gentle touch on his ear and Ondolemar’s soft lips once more on his, the memory of Elenwen pinching his ears was rapidly falling away. Eventually he got the courage to bring his own hands up to Ondolemar’s head, pushing through the golden hair to find the elven ears. Ondolemar groaned as Ryndoril caressed them, thrusting helplessly against the Bosmer.

Ryndoril thrust back against Ondolemar, his breathing shallow with desire. Ondolemar pulled back a little, just enough to get his hand between them, grasping both of their cocks together and stroking hard once. They both cried out, and Ondolemar nearly lost his balance.

“Love, please,” Ryndoril begged breathlessly. “Please, I need you…gods.”

“Yes,” was all Ondolemar could manage to choke out in his desperation. He pulled away, then paused, looking around in confusion. “Oh, Divines damn everything,” he cursed in frustration.

“What’s wrong?” Ryndoril asked, looking up at the Altmer. Dear gods, but he was beautiful, his toned body towering over the Bosmer. His Altmer. His Ondolemar. His savior.

“I have no oil,” Ondolemar said, annoyed. “And no idea where any would be.” Ryndoril grinned at that.

“My pack’s by the door,” he informed the Altmer.

“And you carry the stuff with you?” Ondolemar asked in surprise. “Just what use did you expect to put it to on your travels?”

“I didn’t know how long I’d be gone,” Ryndoril smirked. “It’s not like you’ve never done that by yourself.”

“Hmph,” Ondolemar said, getting off the bed and not letting Ryndoril’s teasing throw him. “Fine, you insatiable elf.”

“Only for you, love,” Ryndoril laughed as Ondolemar rummaged through the pack, finally coming up with the familiar bottle.

“Well, I admit to being grateful this time, anyway,” Ondolemar said, joining the Bosmer once more. He looked over at Ryndoril, spread out on the bed, flushed, hard and obviously ready for him. “You’re gorgeous,” Ondolemar murmured, staring for a moment. It was more sentimental than he usually got, but after nearly losing the elf entirely…

“Thanks,” Ryndoril grinned, pleased. Ondolemar slid a hand up the Bosmer’s thigh, reaching over to stroke him at the last moment, causing Ryndoril to groan with pleasure. “Gods, love…” The Altmer pulled away after a few strokes, opening the bottle to coat his fingers in the oil. Tossing it aside again, he knelt between the Bosmer’s legs, pushing them slightly to the side to allow better access.

Reveling in every single second, every small touch, Ondolemar pressed his oil-slicked fingers to the Bosmer’s opening, his other hand gripping Ryndoril’s thigh firmly. Entering the Bosmer was not as easy as usual this time; Ondolemar had to go more slowly, but he didn’t mind. Every extra moment gave him time to be grateful for the fact that Ryndoril, _his_ wood elf, was lying in front of him again, that he was getting to touch him again.

“Gods,” Ryndoril whimpered as Ondolemar managed to slip a finger inside. He felt the Bosmer tense up around him at once, and stroked his thigh with the other hand.

“Easy, Ryn,” Ondolemar murmured, keeping his touch gentle. “I’ll go slow.”

“I…I know,” Ryndoril breathed, trying to relax. It had just been such a long time…but Divines, did it feel good! All the time spent lying alone in his cell, wishing for Ondolemar’s companionship, wishing just to see the mer’s face again…and now here he was, Ondolemar’s long finger inside of him once more. It was more intense than anything he’d ever felt before.

Ondolemar slowly slid his finger all the way into the Bosmer, trying desperately to control himself. Ryndoril was tighter than he’d ever felt, and the thought of sliding himself inside the Bosmer was going to drive him to madness. Once he was fully inside the elf, he moved his finger until he found the lump of tissue, brushing over it and causing the Bosmer to squirm.

“Ondolemar,” Ryndoril whined. “Yessss…”

“That’s right, Ryn,” Ondolemar said roughly. “Enjoy yourself, my dear wood elf.”

“Y-yes,” Ryndoril said as Ondolemar began to pull his finger out again, working it in and out of the Bosmer to stretch him. “Yes – yours. Yours.” Ondolemar’s throat tightened at the love and the trust that were in that statement. It was very nearly an oath.

A few short thrusts later, Ondolemar let a second finger join the first, pressing both into the Bosmer tenderly. Ryndoril groaned loudly, and Ondolemar shifted at once, bringing his free hand up to cover the Bosmer’s mouth.

“Shh, Ryn,” he chastised, though he ached to hear the Bosmer’s pleasure. “You have to stay quiet tonight.”

“Sorry,” Ryndoril mumbled behind the Altmer’s hand, groaning again when Ondolemar thrust into him and brushed over the sensitive place inside again. “Can’t…gods…help it.”

“I know,” Ondolemar said, feeling quite smug. “Believe me, I want you to enjoy yourself. But we can’t be caught.”

Damn the mer, Ryndoril thought desperately. Did Ondolemar not know he was simply making it worse, making it harder? Dear gods, it felt so amazing, it _was_ so amazing!

“Ondolemar…love…please,” Ryndoril finally begged, unable to take it anymore. “Please, I need you. I want you – ahhh!” he yelled when Ondolemar twitched a finger to brush over the sensitive spot inside him again.

“You must be quiet,” Ondolemar said, his voice shaking with suppressed desire. It made him feel ridiculously powerful to have this control over the Bosmer.

“Please,” Ryndoril whimpered, reaching up to caress one of Ondolemar’s ears. “Please…” The Altmer shuddered with the contact, and he couldn’t keep hold of himself any longer.

“Yes, Ryn,” Ondolemar growled, gently sliding his fingers from the Bosmer and grabbing the oil quickly. “Yes.” It took him very little time to coat his length with the oil, desperate as he was, and finally settled between Ryndoril’s legs once more, pulling the Bosmer’s legs up to the proper position.

“Please,” Ryndoril begged one last time, breathless as the tip of Ondolemar’s cock pressed against him. Ondolemar slid himself inside the Bosmer, trying to be gentle though he found it was immensely difficult. At one point, however, Ryndoril winced; he felt the Bosmer’s muscles clamp down on him, and though it made him shudder with the sudden tightness, he stilled immediately.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice shaking with restraint.

“Yes,” Ryndoril panted, trying to relax. “Just…need time. Been…too long.”

“Sorry,” Ondolemar breathed, reaching up to stroke Ryndoril’s hair softly. “How long – “

“Since the last time with you,” Ryndoril said. He hadn’t had any time alone since then.

“Ryn…” Ondolemar trailed off, his voice constricted. It wasn’t fair, nothing the Bosmer had gone through was fair.

“It’s all right,” Ryndoril said, reaching for the Altmer’s free hand and interlocking their fingers. “I have you now.”

“Yes,” Ondolemar said, bringing their clasped hands up and kissing Ryndoril’s fingers. “You do.”

“I think I’m all right now,” Ryndoril said, panting slightly. He’d missed having the Altmer inside him like this so very much. “Just…”

“Go slow,” Ondolemar nodded, keeping hold of Ryndoril’s hand. “I will, Ryn. I’ll take care of you. I promise.”

“I know you will,” Ryndoril murmured, utterly trusting. He tried to keep his breathing even and relaxed as the mer slid further inside him; it still hurt a little, but he knew it would go away soon. All that mattered to him was the feeling of Ondolemar taking him, claiming him.

“Ryn,” Ondolemar grunted out as he fully sheathed himself inside the Bosmer, collapsing over top of him and simply staying there for a moment. He pressed his lips to Ryndoril’s in a soft kiss, their clasped hands next to Ryndoril’s head.

“Ondolemar,” Ryndoril murmured in return. Ondolemar squeezed his eyes shut, resting his forehead on the Bosmer’s shoulder. Emotion was overwhelming him as the Bosmer’s tight heat surrounded him; he was trying to keep himself from crying again. Ryndoril, his beautiful Ryndoril, finally with him again. Taking the Bosmer, keeping him for his own; after everything that had happened, _still_ , still! – he got to have him.

Ryndoril brought his free hand up to the back of the Altmer’s head, gently stroking his hair. He could tell that Ondolemar was upset about something, but didn’t pry; perhaps the elf was just feeling as emotional as he was himself.

“Thank the Divines for you, Ryndoril,” Ondolemar murmured into the Bosmer’s shoulder, squeezing his hand where he held it, the other squeezing Ryndoril’s shoulder. “You are mine.”

“Completely yours,” Ryndoril agreed softly. “Forever yours.” Ondolemar growled possessively, pulling back to kiss Ryndoril fiercely and began thrusting in and out of the Bosmer, trying to be gentle. “Gods, yes,” Ryndoril moaned when Ondolemar pulled away, making the Altmer immediately kiss him again.

“Quiet, Ryn,” Ondolemar insisted between kisses. “You’ll be heard.” It was taking a good bit of his own strength to keep from crying out at the feeling of the Bosmer tight around him, truthfully.

“Ondolemar, please,” Ryndoril panted a short time later, desperation in his voice. “Please…touch me.” Ondolemar moaned quietly at the request, wasting no time at all in bringing his hand between them, grasping the Bosmer’s need and stroking him to match his thrusts. “Fuck,” Ryndoril hissed, clamping his mouth shut to keep from yelling it louder.

“That’s right, Ryn,” Ondolemar said, his voice harsh with need as he picked up his pace. He wanted to cherish this, but it was so difficult to hold himself back! He could feel the Bosmer writhing underneath him, only fueling his desire.

“Gods,” Ryndoril choked, his breathing coming in forced pants as he tried to control himself. Ondolemar brushing up against that spot inside him while the long fingers stroked him…gods, it was too much. He needed it so badly, and it was too much! “Ondolemar! Please,” he cried, and the Altmer once again bent low to silence him with a kiss.

“Ryndoril,” Ondolemar said, his voice a half-sob with emotion and desire, his hand clutching tightly to Ryndoril’s while the other stroked the Bosmer furiously. “I _love_ you, Ryndoril.”

“Yes!” Ryndoril cried, unable to keep himself from thrusting up into Ondolemar’s grasp, making the Altmer’s cock hit him differently with the next thrust. “Love – you – too – ahh!” Ondolemar swallowed the Bosmer’s cry of pleasure with a harsh kiss, feeling him spill himself between them a moment later. Ondolemar had tears in his eyes, and he wasn’t entirely sure of the cause, but as soon as the Bosmer regained control of himself and caressed Ondolemar’s ear with his free hand, the Altmer was coming undone.

“Ryn!” Ondolemar choked, trying to keep his voice down but not having much control over it. The Bosmer’s muscles were still tightening intermittently around him, helping draw his climax forth as he spilled himself inside Ryndoril.

“Yes, love,” Ryndoril said, his voice quite as choked up as Ondolemar’s. Ondolemar gave a final thrust as he gave the Bosmer the last of himself; the next moment, he had Ryndoril wrapped tightly in his arms, and before he even knew it, he was all but sobbing into the Bosmer’s hair. Ryndoril found himself crying as well, each of them clinging to the other as though they’d never let go.

“By the gods, Ryn,” Ondolemar sniffled, clutching at the Bosmer’s arm. “You…I have you…”

“I needed you,” Ryndoril replied, his voice just as thick and sniffling. “I missed you so much, love. I…I can’t believe I got you back.”

“Of course you did,” Ondolemar choked, trying to calm himself. He knew he was being ridiculous, but everything felt so intensely emotional! “I will always be here, Ryn. I promised. I _do_ promise. I… _gods_.”

“I know,” Ryndoril said, burying his face in Ondolemar’s golden hair. “Thank you, love. Thank you.” The two held onto one another for several minutes longer, the quiet of the night broken only by each elf’s sniffling breaths.

“Look at us,” Ondolemar chuckled thickly sometime later. “Both a crying mess. Ridiculous.”

“I know,” Ryndoril said with a choking laugh of his own. “But I don’t care. I needed this, Ondolemar.”

“As did I, my dear Ryn,” Ondolemar murmured, pressing a firm kiss to the Bosmer’s forehead. He’d slipped out of the Bosmer sometime during their sobbing frenzy, he realized. Ryndoril pulled back and looked up at him in the low candlelight.

“Your face is all puffy,” he teased, reaching up to wipe the tears from the Altmer’s cheek.

“Yours is worse,” Ondolemar informed him, feeling self-conscious though he knew he had no reason to. He brushed a few stray hairs, red mixed with gold, from the Bosmer’s face. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured softly, staring at Ryndoril. Ryndoril laughed.

“Finally, he admits it,” Ryndoril said, grinning widely at the Altmer’s compliment. Ondolemar smirked, shaking his head in amusement. _Ridiculous elf_. “You are, too.”

“So you’ve told me,” Ondolemar said. He didn’t argue with it this time. He could feel himself starting to get drowsy, little though he wanted to be away from the Bosmer, even in dreams.

“Going to fall asleep?” Ryndoril asked knowingly, brushing his thumb across the Altmer’s cheek.

“Most likely,” Ondolemar admitted, and promptly yawned. Ryndoril laughed softly.

“Then sleep well, lo- _my_ love,” he corrected himself. It only seemed right. Ondolemar smiled even as his eyes drifted shut.

“And you as well, my dearest elf,” Ondolemar murmured. Ryndoril turned his head, moving in closer to Ondolemar and resting his head against the Altmer’s shoulder. Finally, at least, things were going right again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END!
> 
> Well, of part one, anyway. Ryn and Ondolemar still have to go out and fight dragons and save Tamriel, right? But they'll be doing it together!
> 
> I fully admit it will be some time before I am able to start posting part 2. I don't post stories until I'm fully finished writing them, and I've barely *started* writing the second half of the main-quest arc, so it will be a while. Bear with me, though, I promise I won't leave this abandoned or anything like that.
> 
> Thank you, thank you, thank you once again to everyone following this story and being so kind and encouraging!

**Author's Note:**

> Well! I hope you're sufficiently interested. This story is 17 chapters long (and is completed), but I won't be posting it all in one chunk - I will post a little every day. I'm happy to finally be able to share this with all of you, so please enjoy (and comments and kudos both make my day!)


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